


This Noise Is Ours

by AmyDancepantsPeralta



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: AU Fic, F/M, Fluff, Makes the world go round, Music Studio, Peraltiago, Peraltiago fluff, Public Relations Amy, Secret Skills, Studio Manager Jake, Thats right another AU from me, inspired from tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 13:01:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18366551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyDancepantsPeralta/pseuds/AmyDancepantsPeralta
Summary: Oh God.The man-child in the hoodie, with crumbs of sugar still clinging to the edge of his mouth from what she can only assume was a larger-than-normal consumption of candy, is in charge.She was screwed.* Peraltiago AU - Sparks fly when Jake & Amy begin working together at Studio Ninety-Nine. *





	1. Begin Again

**Author's Note:**

> This whole concept formed from a head canon posted on tumblr by @startofamoment, and I was lucky enough to be given a chance to write my version of it! You can find the original post [here](http://amazysantiago.tumblr.com/post/182947812905/startofamoment-b99-musician-au-in-which-jake)

**Chapter One - Begin Again**

If she were being honest, when today had started, Amy Santiago had been almost, say 98%, certain that she was about to get fired.

She was a publicist for one of Brooklyn’s biggest up and coming companies, Brooklyn Communications. Having only graduated (with honours, natch) from college four years prior, she had been a highly sought after commodity for many of the big name businesses. Brooklyn Communications hadn't promised the best salary, or even the highest title, but in one meeting with the boss, Raymond Holt, Amy had known unequivocally that it was where she belonged. In the coming years, she had worked hard to earn her place and prove her worth. 

She had felt comfortable, and relatively secure in her role, until earlier this morning when she had been dragged into a one-on-one meeting with the boss himself. Holt was a man of few words, choosing mainly to communicate in two to three lined emails and memos on company letterhead. The notion of a meeting between just the two of them had instantly struck fear into Amy’s heart, and her overactive imagination had her already packing up her desk before she even had the chance to knock on his office door.

Imagine her surprise, then, when it turned out that Holt was _not_ firing her. He was, in fact, increasing her workload (with the view to promotion, should she be successful) - assigning her to a studio/concert venue a friend of his husband’s had recently purchased that was in desperate need of a shake up. _She was the only one he trusted to bring the studio back to what it used to be,_ he had said, in a memory her mind continued to play over and over. He trusted her. Best. News. _Ever._

Being the only girl amongst seven brothers, Amy had learned early on the importance of promotion - for in a family as big as hers, if she didn’t point out her achievements (both academic and extracurricular), nobody else was going to. As strange as it seems, it just felt like a different version of an equation - find the value of x and solve the problem. She’d gotten pretty good at it by the time college admissions came around, and it had felt to be a natural progression for her to pursue Public Relations as a career. She knew the importance of any version of a a hype man - and she could always, _always_ find a way to deliver.

She sat in her car now, outside a relatively nondescript building, doing some extra last-minute research on her new portfolio. Studio Ninety-Nine. Growing up in Queens, she had never really ventured far from her own neighbourhood when it came to public events, but even she knew of the concert venue. While it had never grown into a major player, it had been favoured by independent artists and alternative bands for years, and after being established in the late nineties had changed many hands while still maintaining a relatively loyal audience. 

Their attendance numbers had faded dramatically over the last few years, however - and while there were many factors to take into consideration that could explain such a drop - Amy also knew that interest in venues such as these were beginning to fade. In the age of Netflix and live streaming, people were less interested in standing for hours in smoke-filled rooms waiting for the band to play, favouring instead to watch it in the comfort of their own homes. They - _she_ \- needed to give the public a reason to come here, night after night. 

Flipping down her visor to check her appearance in the attached mirror one last time, Amy released a deep sigh, adjusting her collar until it sat at the perfect angle before leaving the safety of her car. Her eyes scan over the building again, this time taking in the fading paint job - chipping at the edges - and what look to be busted light bulbs lining the entrance. She shakes her head, running a quick assessment of how much work would have to be done to the exterior as she passes a few posters advertising the night’s act. Promotion was obviously something they were lacking in, amongst many others. Her work was definitely going to be cut out for her on this one. 

As she entered the studio, she was surprised to see a relatively modern stage taking pride of place at the back of the arena, with a decent amount of seats facing towards it. Framed posters of bands young and old framed the venue, faded grimaces fighting for attention against hipster alternatives posing in seemingly casual stances. Mic cables lay sprawled over the stage, their loose curls spelling impossible words in their cursive. Speakers were on the floor, large and imposing, and even as she descended the stairs Amy could see a considerable amount of dust laying on top of them.

Over on stage left, two men were talking. One was sitting on the speaker, laughing as he pulled a sour straw out of the pocket of his faded hoodie, pausing only to tip his head back and inhale the candy whole. His jeans were ripped, and ridiculously expensive brand of sneakers - that she recognises as a favourite of one of her brothers - covered his feet as they swung haphazardly against the face of the speaker. The other man stood opposite him, looping cables around his hand as he gestured wildly. He was clearly the one in charge, in his beige shirt and slacks, and Amy squares her shoulders, gripping her bag tightly in her left hand as she heads in their direction.

“Mr. Peralta,” she said, in a loud and clear voice in an effort to gain their attention. Both men lifted their heads, the younger of the two raising his eyebrows as part of his overlong curly hair flopped down onto his forehead. The other man turned, half facing Amy but still leaning in the other’s direction. She soldiered on. “My name is Amy Santiago, and I am your new PR Manager. I understand you’re the Stage Manager for Studio Ninety-Nine?”

The man perched on the speaker lets out a quick laugh, a short bark that echoes across the empty stage and Amy throws him a quick glance of irritation. She turns back to the man in beige, noticing that he too had a smile on his face, and she steps back in confusion.

“While I’m _very_ flattered to be confused for him, I’m afraid you’ve got a case of mistaken identity here. My name is Charles Boyle, and I’m the stage hand.” Gesturing with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around cables, he points over at Mr Sour Straws. “That cool guy over there? That’s Jake. He’s the man you’re looking for.”

 _Oh God._

The man-child in the hoodie, with crumbs of sugar still clinging to the edge of his mouth from what she can only assume was a larger-than-normal consumption of candy, is in charge. 

She was screwed.

His swinging feet slow when he grins over at her, toothy smile only serving to make him look younger as he jumps down off the speaker, reaching his right hand out to shake hers. He raises his eyebrows in surprise as her firm grip takes on his, and blinks quickly before dropping her hand. “Pleased to meet you, I’m Jake. I’m the sheriff in this here town - Amy, did you say your name was?” 

She nods, taking in a deep breath in an effort to regain her composure. “Yes, Amy Santiago. I’ve been sent here from Brooklyn Communications. I’m so sorry about the mixup, I think I just assumed ...” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I keep telling Charles he doesn’t need to dress like that, but he insists. Whatever keeps him happy, ya know?” 

Another nod. “I’m sorry if I’ve interrupted anything. I was just told about this place today when my boss put me in charge, and I prefer to get started right away on these things.”

This time its Jake’s turn to nod, jutting out his bottom lip as his eyes wander over the room. “So, you’re going to do the PR for this place? Turn it into the next big thing?”

“Mr Peralta, from what I’ve read, Studio Ninety-Nine used to be one of the biggest venues in Brooklyn. I know that time has changed things, but I’m _very_ good at my job. I’m confident that we can build things back up to what they used to be.”

“Ok, cool cool cool. And please, it’s Jake.”

Amy runs her hand along the top of her head, a compulsive move that ends with a flick of her ponytail. She wasn’t used to such informal salutations. “Alright ... Jake. When is your next concert?”

“Uhhh … next weekend. Actually, Friday. The Cams.”

 _Never heard of them._ “And what kind of promotion have you done for it?”

He shrugs, raising one hand to the back of his neck as he looks away, a sheepish look crossing his face. “Well, there’s a bunch of posters outside.”

She waits.

“And, uh, there’s a strip of restaurants and stores nearby that have flyers on their doors.”

 _Oh god._ “Anything else?”

Another shrug, this time partnered with a shake of his head. Amy’s eyes narrow in concentration. 

“How many tickets have you sold so far?”

A quick glance to Charles, and his eyes flit back to her. “About half?” 

She nods, her mind beginning to race with plans, and her eyes dart around the room once more. “Take me on a tour of this place, sheriff.”

 

 

Jake was standing backstage now, rifling through equipment as he searched for his favourite guitar, a stall tactic while his mind raced. 

He hadn’t expected today to turn the way it had, but here he was - searching for his favourite guitar as Charles and the newly discovered Amy Santiago waited patiently in the control room at the back of the venue.

Amy Santiago, Studio Ninety-Nine’s new PR manager. And _easily_ the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. 

In a few years time, when he would look back on it all, Jake would wonder why the day hadn’t started like the majority of terrible/secretly great romantic movies he’d seen. There was always some sort of foreshadowing for the protagonist that _today would be the day_ \- that their future was about to begin, and life as they knew it would be forever changed. A swell of music, a cryptic message in their fortune cookie, or a series of events that play out _so seamlessly_ it’s hard to imagine they could ever be orchestrated. 

Of course, none of those things happened to him. Instead, he had been perched on an old speaker, completely unaware, snacking on sour candy and joking with Charles when a beautiful woman in a grey pantsuit had appeared out of nowhere, introducing herself to Charles and temporarily rendering him speechless. 

In a single moment, he had quickly regretted his decision to wear his oldest hoodie (and his second oldest jeans) to work today. Didn’t exactly scream _manager_. His sneakers were top notch, but something told him that footwear was not high on Amy Santiago’s list of interests. Her handshake had been firm, but her touch gentle, and as her fingers gripped him he couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows in surprise.

Her eyes, brown like the sweetest chocolate, had watched him as he’d taken her on a tour of the venue. She had scribbled more notes into her notepad than he would have ever thought to be necessary, and had fired question after question in his direction. The studio’s previous PR - a guy named Bryce - hadn’t shown anywhere _near_ as much interest in the three years he’d worked with them, than Amy had in just _one_ afternoon.

She was clearly passionate about her job, and her desire to see Studio Ninety-Nine succeed was already proving to be contagious. He had been stage manager for a little over a year, and it had been easy to fall into a lax attitude, inherited from his predecessor. When it was all said and done though, Jake loved music, and had been surrounded by it his entire life. The opportunity to work with musicians on a regular basis, and be part of that moment when they step on stage to a roaring crowd, was everything he’d hoped for. 

Attendance had fallen, and his promotional skills were not his strength - he knew both of those things to be true. The business was slowly starting to fail, and he’d be the first to admit that he had run out of ideas on how to bring things back to what they were. But as he had walked through the maze of backstage halls with Amy, listening to her as she spouted out idea after idea, Jake could feel his enthusiasm returning. 

It had taken her less than an hour to set up accounts for the studio across all the big social media platforms, and with an excited grin had begun taking photos of the venue. At the mention of his and Charle’s soundcheck on the agenda for the day, her eyes had lit up. Explaining the popularity of a good behind-the-scenes photo, she’d headed up towards the control room to join Charles.

Which brought them back to now - Jake backstage, now clutching his guitar and trying desperately to ignore the urge to burst out a love song. It was ridiculous, this reaction he was having to Amy, and he knew that he needed to put his head back in the game. Now was not the time to act like a teenager with a stupid crush. She was here to do PR - and with her help, Studio Ninety-Nine could be amazing. 

Clearing his throat, he moves forward until he’s reached the edge of the stage and grips the mic in one hand. 

“Okay Charles, how we doing up there?” Two lights flash in response. “Noice. How about we start with the stage lights?” 

With a soft click, the stage comes to life as the overhead lights illuminate. Checking each one carefully, he nods and turns back towards the control room.

“And the follow spot?”

A circular light hits him directly, and Jake’s eyes squint in response. He really should have seen that coming. 

“Good, good. Okay, let’s get to the audio.”

An unexpected voice falls out of the speakers, and his eyes dart back up towards the control room.

“Mr Peralta, a lot of the equipment here is pretty outdated.” He can hear the resignation in her voice. _Mr Peralta._ He hated being called that. So formal, and not at all him. Mr Peralta was his father. And Jake was not his father. 

“It’s Jake!” he reminded, moving closer to the mic as a plan begins to form in his head. Lifting the guitar into place, he strums for a few seconds before leaning forward into the microphone. 

“Ready, Charles? _Say my name, say my name …_ ” he sings. Or rather, screeches. It’s bad. He knows it. If he was a betting man, he’d be willing to put money down on the notion that somewhere in the world, Beyonce just felt a cold shiver run down her spine. Holding back a grin, he continues. “ _When nobody’s around you, say baby I -_ ”

“OK, OK! I’m sorry. Jake.” she butts in quickly, her voice stronger this time, eager for the torture to be over. It’s probably a good thing that he can’t see her right now. Still, he grins. “But, honestly, Jake … some of this stuff should just go straight to the dumpster.”

“As you wish! _Come with me, Amy to the dumpster_.” he winks up from the stage. “ _Me and Amy, going diving in the dumpster!_ ”

 

 

Dropping her head into her hands, Amy does her best to block out the next verse ( _how? How could a song about dumpster diving have enough content for TWO verses??_ ) and tries her best not to panic. She could feel her anxiety levels rising, and as her index fingers rubbed against her temples, she forced her mind to focus on what she knew. This is what she knew:

1\. Her new client didn’t know how to promote themselves,  
2\. It was run by a man-child,  
3\. They hadn’t replaced some of its equipment in far too long, and she was definitely going to have to find a way to convince the new owner to fork out the cash for new stuff, and  
4\. She was in way over her head. 

Feeling eyes on her, she lifts her head and catches Charles watching her. To his credit, he doesn’t look away, instead choosing to hold her gaze as he openly studies her.

“How do you know some of this equipment is destined for the dumpster?” he finally asks.

“I mean … the cables down there are 90% covered in three different types of tape. There’s an obvious crack in that screen, there’s another crack in the leather chair you’re sitting in … and let’s not forget the hard whacks you’d had to apply to the board before it even came to life.”

“Right, right, right you are …”

Feeling as though she’s overstepped the mark, Amy continues in an apologetic tone - “The fact that the two of you have still been able to commit to great concerts with less than helpful equipment is great, though. Just think of how awesome it could be, if you had the right stuff?” 

He nods, right hand fiddling with a series of knobs as Jake calls out his list from the stage below. Moving behind him quietly, she lifts her phone up and switches to camera mode - quickly taking a few shots of the stage while Charle’s profile remains shadowed in the foreground.

“So,” she continues, desperate to fill the silence. “How is it that you came to work for Jake, anyway?”

“Oh, we’re old college buddies … we crossed paths at a party and realised we had a few mutual friends. I was close to graduating and had just signed the lease on a new apartment in the city, and was looking for a few housemates. Jake was looking for a new place, and the rest is history.”

“So you lived together?”

“Yep, along with his friend Gina. Just the three of us, and a VIOLENT toaster.”

“I’m sorry, a _violent toaster?_ ”

He nods earnestly. “You should’ve seen this thing. It could shoot a bagel clear across the room. I’m not even exaggerating. One afternoon, Gina was in the living room and got conked on the head by my ciabatta.”

She raises her eyebrows, dubious but not willing to push the topic further. Charles continues, blissfully unaware.

“It was a mess of an apartment, really. The hot taps meant cold, cold meant hot, the thermostat was constantly breaking and there was this weird cat sculpture that kept moving of its own volition, around the apartment. Honestly, a strange place. But we had the best time.” 

“Look, it definitely sounds … _interesting_.”

He turns quickly, the inertia of his movement causing to swing his rolling chair further to the right than originally intended. “Listen - _whoa!_ ” comes his startled cry as he finds himself suddenly moving away from his post. One hand reaches out to grip the board as he moves back, refusing to meet her eye until he’s returned to his original position. “Listen,” he started again, clearing his throat. “I know the Jake can seem a little …. _reckless_.”

Making a non-committal noise in her throat, Amy shifts her gaze to the stage below where the man in question was still strumming his guitar as he walked along the edge. 

“Honestly, he’s really very good at what he does. He loves music, and when the situation calls for it he definitely steps up to the plate.”

She continues to study Jake, nodding in what she hoped looked as a relatively confident response to his statement. Charles continued speaking, but his voice faded into the background as she listens to Jake play his guitar, genuine melodies beginning to take over the senseless strumming as he mistakenly believes that she and Charles had stopped listening.

For the first time since meeting him earlier in the day, Amy studied Jake instead of the studio, and she realised with a startle that she actually found him kinda _cute_. His smile was so wide, but it lit up his whole face. And his hands, when they weren’t clutching candy, held onto his guitar as though it was an extension of himself. 

Not that any of that mattered. She was here to do a job. _Not_ to do the boss.

Jake looks up again, using one hand to shade his eyes from the light as he returns to the microphone in eager strides.

“Oh, Aaaaamy! Amy Santiago, come on down! Your date with the dumpster awaits!”

Kinda cute, yes. Kind of annoying? Definitely. But Amy never stood down from a challenge.

Even if said challenge did make her heart skip a little beat.


	2. Songbird

If Jake was completely honest, his favourite part of each concert were the moments of silence afterwards. And not because it meant that the hard part of his job was over (although that would be a safe assumption). It was the electricity that ran through the air - a heady combination of exertion, creativity and _joy_ that lingered long after the last patron had walked out the door. 

The floor was always littered with ticket stubs and empty bottles, covered with a rainbow of different wrappers. Occasionally, depending on the act, there would be confetti or glitter or remnants of some other token that had been launched through the air at the climax of that guy on the left’s _absolutely favourite song_. 

The energy of the band’s performance would echo through the seats, feeling so much stronger now that there weren’t any bodies to absorb it all. He would hear the talent backstage, loud in their actions as they packed up with the adrenaline of the night still coursing through their veins. They would speak about how the night had seemed _electric_ , how _this one had been way better than that dodgy place they were in last week_ , and how _alive_ they felt as the crowds had chanted their lyrics back to them. It was intoxicating, that feeling, a natural high, and Jake loved to listen to them try to find the right words to describe it.

Tonight, The Cams had smashed out a steady two hour set of their songs and had kept the audience under the spell until their final note played. Their lead singer had grinned in triumph at Jake as he ran past him after their encore, hand slapping against his shoulder in a silent thank you. They were still relatively unknown to people outside of Brooklyn, but their shows were getting bigger and bigger, and Jake was certain it wouldn’t be too long before venues like the Ninety-Nine would be unable to handle the demand.

He had worked quickly to disconnect all the equipment, throwing the occasional glance towards the cleaning crew as they swept all the evidence of the night away. His hands, wrapped up in aux cables, had felt their familiar heaviness as he moved across the stage, passing Charles carrying mic stands and various equipment. They moved together seamlessly, a well oiled machine by this stage, and they were finished by the time the band returned from their rooms. 

There were words of gratitude, proud smiles and offers of post-gig drinks thrown around. Charles was quick to take them up on the offer, but Jake declined - choosing instead to stick around with the cleaning crew and lock up the studio.

Which brought him to this moment, alone on the quiet stage with only himself for company. The crew had long since departed, bags of trash hanging over their shoulder, the slam of the door behind them echoing across the studio. He remained perched on a stool, in the middle of the stage, with a guitar in his hand and the _same damn thoughts_ about the _same person_ that had been in his mind _all. day._ now commanding full attention. 

It had been a good half hour since everyone had left, and the lights from the exit signs, evenly spaced along the edges, was the only illumination to the room. In the darkness, he felt comfortable - he felt _safe_ \- and so he picked up his guitar, and began to sing.

 

 

After her first meeting with Jake Peralta, Amy had not held a lot of confidence in tonight’s concert. While her aggressive approach to their social media and increased external promotion had resulted in a 23% increase in sales for the show, she had yet to see the stage manager in action, and was more than a little worried that his relaxed attitude would lead to disaster. 

But as she watched him tonight, moving from backstage to the stands to the control centre and back with ease, she realised that all of her concerns had been for nothing. Charles had been right - Jake had a relaxed persona, but when called to action he was genuinely good at his job. 

He’d worked with the band’s sound man all afternoon prior, pushing through attempt after attempt to ring out the room in an effort to get the sound _just right_. Lights had been tested, moved, dimmed and then tested again. Drum kits and mic stands and every thing in-between had been pushed onto the stage under his command, and it had all resulted in an incredibly impressive show. Amy had never heard of The Cams before tonight, but she was now a fan, and Jake deserved part of the credit for that. 

Three days prior, when she had stopped by to do a quick check on their ticket sales, Jake had led her through the halls behind until they came to rest by a lone room that sat directly behind the stage. She’d watched him, puzzled, as he stammered something about her needing room to work before opening the door with a flourish. Inside sat a small couch, a tiny fridge, and a desk - a new chair tucked neatly underneath. Binders, still in their wrapping, sat untouched on the top of the desk, and an array of folders and envelopes lay waiting to the side. It was relatively small, and she didn’t recognise a lot of the posters that decorated the walls, but it was hers - and she loved it. 

His face had flushed red, his hand massaging the back of his neck in an act of self-consciousness as she’d thanked him repeatedly, raving about how he’d managed to pick out the _good_ binders. He’d shrugged casually, repeating the word cool more than once as he’d backed out of the room slowly, but she hadn’t missed the proud smile that had slipped onto his face as he turned to leave. 

Being the Type A personality that she was, Amy was far ahead on all of her projects at Brooklyn Communications, meaning that she had been able to devote more of her time and attention to the studio. It had become her Everest - the little engine that could, if you will - and in just one week she had found herself completely invested in seeing it return to its former glory.

She had attended tonight’s concert with several agendas in mind - to capture photos and videos for all of their accounts; to listen to the crowd’s chatter as they entered and exited the venue (idle chatter can tell you more than all of the surveys in all the world); to watch Jake in action; and to figure out a new budget for the studio.

When Jake had presented an oversized shoebox with various receipts and invoices tucked inside, and the word EXPENSES written on a strip of duct tape on the outside, Amy had felt the anxiety rise and take grip of her throat. Budgetary matters didn’t really fall into her jurisdiction, but she also knew that a good business was one that earned more than it spent, and so she was eager to cook the books and put together a working budget for the studio. While her contact with the owner had been limited, they appeared to be willing to spend if the benefits outweighed the cost, and she never turned down the chance for a good thorough binder.

The studio had turned so quiet after the band and all of its crew had left, and Amy had taken full advantage of the silence to dive deep into her work. It was only when the faint sound of music filtered through the walls of her tiny office that she finally lifted her head, dipping it to one side as she concentrated on the sudden interference. 

She definitely wasn’t going crazy. Somewhere in the studio, a guitar was playing. Obviously, somebody had left a track running unnoticed before they had left - and considering she had just run the figures of the electricity bill, Amy was well aware that running unnecessary items definitely came at a cost. 

Dropping her pen back down to her notes with a resigned sigh, Amy pushes her hair back into a messy bun and heads towards the sound, the ballet flats she had chosen to wear to tonight’s performance keeping her steps quiet as she moves through the hallway.

The volume increased as she got closer to the source, and in her haste to get to the control room where she assumed the music was coming from, she almost missed it completely.

The music was _not_ coming from the control room. And it was not a recording, despite how professional it sounded. She stood, eyes blinking in disbelief as her mind struggled to take in the scene in front of her.

Jake Peralta, the man who had screeched Destiny’s Child to her on the first day they met, was currently perched on a stool in the middle of the stage, playing guitar, and _singing_. 

Not just humming along to a random melody, or butchering the lyrics of a popular song. Singing. _Really_ well.

Her feet were rooted to the spot as he finished the song, pausing for only a moment before launching straight into another. And she’s so transfixed in what she’s seeing, that for a moment she can’t even register the lyrics. 

“ _I just want you closer, is that alright? Baby, let’s get closer tonight._

_Grant my last request and just let me hold you … don’t shrug your shoulders. Lay down beside me._

_Sure, I can accept that we’re going nowhere, but one last time let’s go there …_ ”

There was something about the way he sang - a longing in his voice - that made Amy’s heart work double time. Her mind was still fighting to make sense of it all, but there was one more thing that was becoming more and more apparent - despite all of his attempts to suggest otherwise, Jake Peralta could sing like nobody’s business.

Part of her wanted to burst onto the stage, pull him from his reverie and demand to know _why_ he had hidden such a skill from her, and assumedly everybody else. And she would be lying if said first instinct - once her feet had unglued themselves from the floor - hadn’t moved her closer to the stage, still remaining undetected as the darkness concealed her presence. 

But she pauses, stuck in a moment of indecision as she studies Jake up on that stage. His eyes were closed, fingers gliding along the strings of his guitar in a movement of muscle memory that was both impressive and _sexy_. There was a sense of peace to him as he repeated the last few lyrics to draw the song to a close, and despite her desire to know _more_ , Amy just couldn’t bring herself to interrupt. 

Choosing instead to leave the confrontation for another day, she stepped back quietly, praying that the darkness wouldn’t cause her to trip on something (in an ungraceful way that only people like her were skilled enough to manage), thereby blowing her cover. With her back pressed against the wall, she slides against the grain until the hallway becomes visible. 

Her mind was still reeling, trying to understand why Jake would want to keep something like that a secret, and _why_ he wasn’t out on that stage every night. He had a skill that so many people wish they had, and the publicist in her was dying to record him and post it on every possible social media account. He could be The Next Big Thing, if only he was willing to share it. 

Turns out, there was more to this Jake Peralta than meets the eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you playing at home, the song Jake was singing is Last Request, by Paolo Nutini.
> 
> Music is such a personal thing, and I'm hopeful that I'll find the right song to capture each moment. There are a LOT of options, and if anything I hope that maybe we all find some new favourites! I'm open to suggestions :)
> 
> Comments and kudos will always soothe my soul, so feel free to leave one (or both!)


	3. Can't Stop This Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just a little crush ...

**Chapter Three - Can't Stop This Feeling**

The heels of Amy’s boots scuff against the pavement as she makes her way towards the studio. Her head is tilted back, eyes raised to the facade of the building as she watches the workmen give the entire front a makeover: fresh lights, new paint, and restoration of the original signage. Bringing it back to its former glory. Her steady work over the last two months were beginning to pay off - Studio Ninety-Nine was slowly making its comeback.

Her other work commitments had meant that Amy hadn’t been able to spend as much time as she would have liked at the studio. While Jake’s relaxed work ethic still gave her a little anxiety, they bounced off each other in such a relaxed way that the venue was fast becoming one of her favourite places to be.

Her pace slowed as she approached and saw Jake sitting on the entry stairway, his cell phone in one hand and a takeaway coffee cup in the other. His shoulders were tense and the paper cup was beginning to bend dangerously under the weight of his grip. He was shaking his head, muttering something Amy couldn’t quite hear, and she hesitated approaching. 

Truth be told, since her first discovery Amy had managed to find reasons to stay behind for two other performances, all in the hopes of listening to Jake sing again. 

She had seen a different side of Jake that first night - something that felt more authentic, more him. And she couldn’t help but want to see more. The way all his facades fell away until the only things that seemed to exist were his voice and his guitar, was captivating. His vocals would carry across the empty stage, commanding the attention of every empty seat before finding their way into her heart, and it was beautiful. 

It was clear that he loved it - the way his eyes would close as the melody began to take over, and the small smile that played across his face as the tempo would increase. His voice had become one of her favourite things to hear, and she was _dying_ to know why he kept it so well hidden.

He raises his head as she draws near, one side of his mouth quirking up in a small smile as he nods and scoots his body over, a silent invitation for her to sit next to him. 

Bending down she sits beside him, shoulders brushing as he pockets his phone. There’s an awkwardness brimming beneath her - he doesn’t know that on three separate occasions now, she’d lingered in the shadows and listened to him sing, and she’s terrified that she’ll let something slip. 

Breaking the silence, she speaks. “This place is looking great.”

He nods, gaze locked on something in the distance.

“I thought I’d swing by, check everything out.” More silence. “Maybe get some shots for the ‘gram.”

Taking a sip of his coffee, Jake turns his head and throws her another small smile. “Business is definitely picking up - you should be proud of what you’ve done, Amy.”

“Thank you, but ….. is everything okay, Jake?”

He raises his eyebrows. “What makes you think it isn’t?”

“The death grip you have on your coffee cup is a pretty good indicator.”

He laughs, a short exhale of breath as he shakes his head and looks away again. “It’s just … some people really suck.”

“Agreed. Anyone in particular, though?”

He opens his mouth before quickly snapping it shut again, eyes still focused on something far in the distance. Jaw clenching, Jake simply shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. He’s just a jerk.”

Eager to change the topic and distract him from whatever thoughts were racing around his mind, Amy sweeps her hair off her shoulders and begins. “So, Charles was telling me about how you two used to be roommates.”

He nods, jaw unclenching slightly.

“It sounds like it was an interesting apartment.”

Jake turns to her now, one eyebrow raised slightly. “He told you about the toaster, didn’t he?”

“I believe the correct term is _violent_ toaster.”

“I know how it sounds, but honestly Amy, this thing had velocity.”

She laughs at this, heart skipping a beat as she watches his face relax. “Why didn’t you guys just get a new toaster?!”

“Ehh, it still worked fine. It would toast your bread, you just had to be nearby when it was finished with it or you’d end up with Floor Toast. It kinda made your breakfast interesting, ya know?”

She laughs again, crossing her arms in front of her chest as a cool breeze runs over her. 

“Did he tell you about the cat sculpture?”

Brows furrowed, Amy nods. “Yeah?”

His body twists towards her slightly, knees brushing against hers as he leans in slightly. “You’ve got to promise not to tell anyone, but … that was totally me.”

She bites her bottom lip as she suppresses another laugh. “Of course it was.”

“The first time I had just tried to clean the place up, and couldn’t remember where the damn thing went. But when I saw his reaction, and how _convinced_ he was that it was moving on its own, I just ran with it. I got pretty good at it, by the end - even our roommate Gina got involved.” 

They sat together, knees touching and laughing as he continued to reminisce about living with two of his friends. Amy watches him as he talks, eyes sparkling in mirth and notices that the tension has left his body completely. It was so easy, between the two of them - and there’s a surge of pride, but mainly happiness, that she’d been able to lift his mood.

The door behind them swings open, and Charles comes wandering out. “There you are, Jake! I’m all set up for sound check, if you still want to - ” His eyes take in the two of them, sitting closely on the staircase, and he raises his eyebrows at Amy before greeting her. “Am I interrupting something?”

Laughter dying in her throat, Amy is quick to shake her head before standing up - completely missing the way Jake’s face falls as he watches her move away. 

“Hey Charles, I just wanted to stop by and see how the renovations were going.”

Charles’s eyes linger on Jake for a beat longer, before turning back to smile at Amy. “Great! You should come in and check out the new equipment - I’ve spent the better part of my day figuring it out and I think it’s going to make this weekend’s Red Riot concert _amazing_.”

Amy nods enthusiastically, following him into the building. She can feel Charles watching her, and she was trying desperately to get rid of the flush that had taken over her face. Those ten minutes on the steps with Jake had been one of the best moments she’d had in weeks - and it was the total opposite of how a professional should act. 

 

 

Having followed the other two into the venue, Jake headed towards the stage to begin another sound check. Running his hand through his hair, he sighs heavily as he grabs a guitar from the storage room before reaching into his pocket for his phone, rejecting another call from his father. There was still residual anger from their earlier conversation - he had stopped tolerating excuses from him a long time ago, and for some reason the man just never learned.

But right now, all his thoughts were centred on Amy. He had been deep in a funk when she had appeared, and within minutes her laughter was making his heart soar all over again. It was impressive, what she’d been able to do to build up business in the last two months, and he was so very grateful that someone like her had come into his life. Also, there was the small fact that he really, _really_ wants to kiss her.

It was official. His kinda liking Amy had definitely turned into a full-blown crush. And he had no idea what he was going to do about it.

His eyes glance up towards the control room, knowing that she was in there with Charles. Part of him wanted to race up the stairs and ask her out, before another word was spoken. The rest of him was terrified - that she may not feel the same way, or that she would reject him because they were co-workers, and nothing more. The stakes were too high for him to mess this up, and so he stayed right there on the stage.

Charles calls out from his position, and Jake begins to go through the motions before lifting his guitar. There were so many songs that he wanted to sing right now, lyrics floating through his head with no sign of stopping. Instead, he chooses the safer route and goes with comedy. And nothing is better than a good screech.

_“One, two, three, four ….. AAAHHHHHHHH ….”_

 

 

Amy watches him now, from her position in the control room, and as his screeches continue to fill the silence she can only shake her head. “I just don’t get it,” she mumbled to herself.

Charles, who had the innate ability of being able to watch people without them noticing, piped up from behind, startling her as he spoke. “You’ve heard him sing, haven’t you?” 

She whips around at his question, momentarily regretting leaving her hair down as some of it flicks forwards and gets stuck on her lipgloss. She pushes it away with an irritated swipe, fixing her gaze on the man in front of her. “OHMYGODYES! _Charles!_ You knew about this?!”

“Jake and I are best buds, Amy. Of course I knew about it.”

She continues to stare, her mouth gaping open as a million questions flood through her mind.

“He’s pretty amazing, isn’t he?” 

“He’s …. he’s so _good_ , Charles! He should be on the stage, every night, instead of half of those other acts. _Why?_ Why on earth does he screech like that when he can sing the way he does?”

“Do you remember the band, The Pilots?”

She nods, confused as to where this conversation was going. The Pilots were a pop/rock band that hit the big time in the late eighties/early nineties, and the legend of the band members and their crazy drug-fuelled benders were stuff of legends. 

“Ever noticed the similarity between the lead singer and our stage manager?”

Scrunching her face up in concentration, Amy looks away for a moment as she tries to think back on who the lead singer _was_ , let alone looked like. _Wasn’t it Rob ... Robert? Ranger? Ringer? Rog ... Roger?_

“Similarities in their surname, for example?” Charles prompts, as Amy’s Confused Face only grew stronger. Her eyes light up at that last bit of info. 

“Wait, WHAT? Jake’s Dad was Captain ROGER?!”

“Yes, but SHHH! He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Oh my god! I can’t believe I didn’t notice until now. Of _course!_ ” 

“So if you remember him, you probably remember how crazy their tours were. Different women and different mixtures of drugs, alcohol and god knows what else every night. He was just a loose cannon, completely drunk on the fame, and it split his family apart. Jake is _certain_ that it would happen to him if he were to go into the industry and he swore to me years ago, when I first heard him sing, that he would _never_ go pro.”

She nods, tongue tied and eyes earnest as her brain scrambles to process all this new information. _Jake’s dad was a rock star?!_

“He used to just sing when he was with friends, the occasional karaoke session … whatever. But every time he would, there would inevitably be someone who told him how much he reminded them of his father. And in his mind, there couldn’t be a worse thing to say.”

Moving her head until she can watch Jake closer, she resists the urge to roll her eyes as she watches him pull a bag of jelly beans out of the pocket of his hoodie and start throwing them in the air, catching them in his mouth every time. Admittedly, it was impressive that he never missed. 

“Eventually, he just stopped performing altogether. But I’ve caught him a few times, smashing out a few songs on stage when he thinks that nobody is watching. Which I’m guessing is how you found out, as well.”

She nods again. 

‘I’m serious, Amy. He would be so mad at me if he knew I told you. You have to promise to keep this a secret.”

Pulling her eyes away from Jake, Amy turns back to Charles and shakes her head gravely. “Charles, I promise. I won’t tell anyone. Especially Jake. And I’m sorry if I put you in a position where you felt you had to tell me. I just think he could have an amazing career, if he’d let it happen.”

“You didn’t force anything out of me, Amy. I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t think your intentions were good. And I don’t know why, but I just have a feeling that you’d never do anything to hurt him.”

That last statement enforced the quiet back within Amy. It wasn’t that he was wrong - she wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt Jake. But that was just her being a _decent human being_ , and nothing to do with the way her heart would sometimes, only a little, skip a beat when he smiled at her. Or the way her eyes would follow his hands as they worked over the soundboard. Nope, those were totally, completely, utterly _different_ things. Her eyes flick back up to Charles, face flushing as she realises he had been watching her the entire time. Quickly, she shakes her head in response to his words. “I’d never hurt him, Charles.”

He nods, a strange smile on his face. “I thought as much.” 

A feeling of self-consciousness runs over her, and with a quick tuck of her hair behind her ears, Amy makes her quick exit from the control room. Her mind is still trying to reconcile the news about Jake’s father, and as such doesn’t notice the man walking up the staircase she was descending until she has run directly into his chest.

“OOF! Jake?! Weren’t you just on stage?”

He looks at her quizzically, a small smirk crossing his face as he shakes his head. “Yeah, like five minutes ago. But the sound check was all done and you guys had gone all quiet, so I thought I’d come up and see what was happening. Sorry to run into you like that, but I honestly thought you saw me coming.”

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t notice …”

“I mean … you were staring right at me.”

Her face flushes all over again. “Just a little distracted, I guess.”

He’s watching her closer now, brows furrowing as he cocks his head to the side. “Is everything okay, Ames?”

Ames. He’s never called her Ames before. She’s never been called Ames, ever. But suddenly, it’s her new favourite way to hear her name.

Not trusting herself to speak, she nods quickly and brushes past him, moving quickly down the stairs. He calls after her, but she just waves as she walks out of the building. 

She definitely had a crush on Jake Peralta. And she had _no_ idea what she was going to do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left me comments and kudos on the last two chapters - I was definitely unsure on whether I was doing this AU justice. I hope you've enjoyed what I put up today - trust that fluff will be there soon enough!
> 
> If you're feeling generous, feed a hungry writer - leave me a comment or kudos (or both!)


	4. Take A Chance On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “She’s going to say yes, you know.”
> 
> Furrowing his brow in confusion, Jake turns his head towards Charles. “What are you talking about?”
> 
> “Amy. You want to ask her out. She’s going to say yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so very sorry that this is sooooo very late. I haven't been well, and sleeping way more than I would have liked. But I'm back, and I hope you can all forgive me!

**Chapter Four - Take A Chance On Me**

 

Jake leans against the back of the stage, arms crossed comfortably against his chest as he watches the scene in front of him, an impressed smile on his face.

Today the studio was open to the local press, in what Amy referred to as a ‘junket’ day. For the last twenty minutes he had been watching her work the room, and it was honestly a little ridiculous how captivated he was.

Amy had a certain way about her - her smile was stunning, and when she spoke she commanded just enough attention that had the crowd hanging off every word. What she had done for the studio in such a short time was nothing short of impressive, and as she led the press through the venue Jake came to the realisation that today needed to be the day. 

Today would be the day that he would finally ask Amy Santiago out on a date. 

Forget all of the conversations he created in his mind, and the hundreds on texts that he had crafted then deleted from his phone. He needed to bite the bullet, build up the courage and speak the words. 

Charles sidled up next to him, mirroring Jake’s casual pose as he watches Amy work. “She’s going to say yes, you know.”

Furrowing his brow in confusion, Jake turns his head towards Charles. “What are you talking about?”

“Amy. You want to ask her out. She’s going to say yes.”

How Charles managed to read his mind every time, Jake will never know. Shaking his head, he turns back to look at Amy, hoping his silence will be enough of a response.

Really, he should have known better. “You should do it today.”

“Charles, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you do, Jake. You like Amy. _Like_ her, like her.”

Another shake of his head. “You’re talking crazy, Charles.”

“Oh, please. Everybody knows. Even the old lady from Chang’s Kitchen on the corner knows.”

“Okay, _that_ is straight up insanity.” 

“All I’m saying is you should go for it. Amy likes you too, trust me on this. She’s going to say yes.”

The confidence in Charles’ voice ignited a spark of hope into Jake, turning towards Charles as he unfolds his arms and studies his friend closely. If there was any time he needed one of Boyle’s hunches to be correct, it was today.

Charles looks back at Jake with such an assured look on his face that he can feel his facade beginning to slip.

“It’s just … there’s just a lot riding on this, Charles. Look what she’s done for this place. What if I say something stupid, or do something stupid - which, given my track record I think it’s safe to say that either one is possible - and she walks away?” 

“Not gonna happen.”

Jake turns back towards Amy, running one hand along the back of his neck. He’s been watching her all day like some lovesick puppy. But not _love_ sick … obviously he doesn’t _love_ her. (Except that he thinks that maybe he does actually love her, despite the fact that they _haven’t even been on a date yet_ , because he’s never really felt this way about another person, ever, and to be honest it’s a little terrifying.)

They had only known each other four months, but she was easily the best part of his day. Her intelligence and tenacity intrigued him, and when she smiled he could feel parts of him literally melt. He’d never really known anybody to affect him like this, and there was a part of him (a very small part, small enough that he could still pretend it wasn’t really there) that felt like maybe, just _maybe_ , she was the real deal. If she said no, and things got awkward, he wasn’t sure he would fully recover.

Now was not the time for irrational moves. Not when a future with someone like Amy Santiago was at stake.

 

 

Ever since she had come to the realisation that her sort-of crush on Jake Peralta was not sort-of, and was actually very _very_ real, Amy had been trying her best to avoid Studio Ninety-Nine. Trying and failing, if she was to be completely honest.

She had begun on Monday, mentally tying herself to her desk so that she could focus on all of her other portfolios. Her Type A personality already had her weeks ahead of schedule on all the accounts, but distraction was sorely needed. And it had nearly worked, until she remembered that she needed to post something on the studio’s Instagram. And maybe a quick tweet. The rest of the afternoon disappeared without her realising, lost in her phone’s camera roll - her eyes lingering on the random photos of Jake that had slipped into her album.

Tuesday, she’d sent a quick text to Jake about an open press day she was organising (in a completely professional tone, obviously) - a text that had turned into a conversation, and then a phone call, and then a few more texts after they’d finally hung up.

Wednesday was nearly completely successful - until, that is, Jake had sent her an email to show her how well the next concert was selling. The rest of the day descended into an entertaining thread of emails that could barely hold up as work related conversation. 

And now here she was, on a Thursday, spending her day at the studio running the press junket and trying her best not to hover around Jake. She’d had an excellent turnout with local papers and journalists attending, and as she walked them through the venue she was honestly trying her hardest _not_ to flick her eyes over to Jake at every move. 

As she leads everyone back towards the main stage, Vanessa, an old college friend that now worked for the local paper, sidled up next to Amy and leant in for a quiet conversation. “So Amy, tell me more about that stage manager we met at the beginning. Jake Peralta? He’s mega cute, in that adorable kinda way. What’s his deal?”

Amy can feel her body tighten up in jealousy. She knew it was completely irrational - while she definitely liked Jake, she had yet to summon up enough courage to actually do anything about it. And Vanessa was right, he was mega cute. And funny. And kind of amazing. 

“Oh, Jake?” she stammered, trying desperately to avoid sounding territorial. “He … he’s okay, I guess. I don’t know what his deal is, I mean, I don’t think he has a girlfriend - is uh, is that what you mean?”

“That is definitely what I mean.”

“Cool, cool cool … yeah, I _think_ he’s single? I mean, it hasn’t really come up, so …?” the words burn as she speaks them. She’s fighting every instinct to curl up her fists, hiss in Vanessa’s direction and tell her to _back off_.

“Come on then, introduce us!” the other woman giggles, bumping shoulders with her as though they were still back in college. Inwardly, Amy seethed, but they had actually reached the portion of the afternoon that she had locked Jake in for a group interview with all of the press. So technically, she actually was _required_ to introduce this damn temptress to Jake. And she’s never wanted to do anything less in her life.

She looks over towards the stage, and notices Jake and Charles waiting for her. Swallowing hard, Amy turns back towards the professionals, announcing that the group interview was about to begin - ignoring the way Vanessa immediately turned on her too-high heels and practically sprinted over towards the two men. _This was going to be a nightmare_. 

 

Turns out, it was worse than a nightmare. Vanessa was aggressive in her flirtations, laughing and casually flicking her hair over one shoulder whenever Jake cracked a joke in a move that Amy recognised from the local bar they frequented when they were younger. She bites her tongue, the urge to tell her old friend to _get some new moves_ threatening to overload. _He’s not that funny_ she thinks - except for the tiny fact that he kinda _is_.

He’s kind, handsome, funny, charming and adorable - and everything she never knew she always wanted. And now some other woman was going to date him before she even had the chance.

 

 

Jake had been waiting for a moment with Amy all day, running through so many different versions of the same question that he genuinely wasn’t sure what he was going to say when (or if) he finally had the chance. He’d never been a fan of interviews, having watched his father fumble through _so many_ when he was younger, and he was eager for this whole thing to be over.

Especially because there was one particular journalist, _Vanessa … Whatshername?_ that seemed to be hell bent on getting the scoop. Manipulating every conversation so that the focus would return to her, she fired question after question at Jake, biting her lip whenever he would look her way. At some point during the interview, Amy had moved closer to Jake and the smell of her perfume, along with her presence, was throwing him off track. 

Vanessa bats her eyelids, flipping her hair back over one shoulder for the fifth time as she throws a seductive smile in Jake’s direction. “If I’d known that you were at every concert, Mr Peralta, I would have made more of an effort.”

_Holy moley, she’s flirting with me!_ His mind races, tongue temporarily tied in knots as his eyes grow wider and he begins to stammer out a response. It’s not that she isn’t an attractive woman, it’s just she’s not -

He can feel Amy bristle next to him, squaring her shoulders as she raises her voice. “Let’s keep this interview related to Studio Ninety-Nine, shall we?” 

Glancing at Amy from the corner of his eye, Jake raises his eyebrows as he notices her clenched jaw, one hand flexing slightly as Amy shuffles ever so slightly closer to him. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear that she was acting jealous right now. But that didn’t make any sense. Amy didn’t like him like that.

_Or does she?_

_Wait a minute - was Charles right?_

An awkward silence fills the room as Vanessa shoots an affronted look at Amy, stepping back slightly as Jake glances at his feet. 

Thankfully, someone in the crowd clears their throat and loudly declares the time. Amy, latching on to the cue, works quickly to wrap up the afternoon before ushering everybody out through the main exit. Her face had remained flush red the entire time, and Jake was desperate to follow her. If there was even the _slightest_ chance that she might like him in return, he needed to act before he lost his nerve. 

It was over an hour before Amy finally headed back over to him, feet shuffling as she moved to help him unload the new equipment that had arrived earlier in the week. They worked together in a comfortable silence for a few moments, Jake watching her carefully as he moved about the floor, rehearsing what he hoped would be the perfect line over and over in his head.

Eventually, Amy breaks the silence as she stops in front of him, twisting her fingers anxiously as she speaks. “Jake, I need to apologise for the way I acted during the interview. I interrupted a conversation between you and Vanessa, and it was incredibly unprofessional. I’m so sorry.”

Jake pauses for a moment, shaking his head as he notices the flash of irritation in her eyes as she mentions the other woman’s name. “Ames, you have nothing to worry about. Honestly.”

She nods slowly. “If it helps, she and I know each other from college, and I’m pretty sure I could get her number for you.”

He’s not sure if he’d ever shook his head faster than he did in response to Amy’s offer. He did _not_ need, or want, Vanessa’s number. In all seriousness, he was still hopeful that he would never need to get anybody’s number ever again.

“It’s totally fine, Ames. I’m not interested in Vanessa.”

Her eyes light up at his response, and simultaneously his stomach drops and his heart begins to pound. She shrugs, smiling as she tries to remain casual while she takes a step back. 

But still, there was a spark of something in her gaze, and it was just enough to give Jake a (temporary) bolt of courage. He clears his throat, running one hand through his hair as he catches her eye again.

_You can do this, Peralta._

“So, I uh .... I slipped earlier today.”

“You slipped?” she replied, temporarily thrown by the change of topic.

He nods quickly. “Yeah, I was too busy looking ahead to notice what was under my feet ... caught the end of a mic cable at the heel of my foot and landed on my butt.”

“.... oh?”

“I know that probably doesn’t seem all that interesting to you, but I feel like it’s important that you know this, because I’m about to ask you something and if it doesn’t go well then I’m just going to blame it on a concussion I technically didn’t know about, okay?”

“...... okay?”

“I was wondering, well hoping really, I mean …. I just - ” Out with it, Peralta. _You’re never going to know if you never ask_. He throws his hand over his face, palm squishing his nose as he squints his eyes and averts his gaze ever so slightly. 

“Amy Santiago, will you go on a date with me?” 

His heart is beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings, and he can’t bring himself to look at her. Not yet, anyway. But the silence is killing him, and slowly, carefully, he turns his head back towards Amy.

Her smile is brighter than he’s ever seen. And somehow he knows that everything is going to be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what's coming up next, folks! Date time!
> 
> I hope you're still enjoying this - please leave comments/kudos if you can. They're the best cure I could ask for!


	5. Love Me Like The World Is Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amy Santiago - date time! Time to date!

**Chapter Five - Love Me Like The World Is Ending**

There were a lot of words that Jake had hoped would be used when describing his and Amy’s first date.

Amazing, for example. Successful, even. Romantic ... sweet ... hell, he’d even accept comfortable. The one description he’d been aiming to avoid, at all costs, was _disaster_. 

And yet, as he stood on the sidewalk and stared, mouth agape at the scene in front of him, _disaster_ was the only word that came to mind. 

Buena Comida, the restaurant that he had so painstakingly chosen from a list of suitable restaurants compiled by Charles, was currently being evacuated as the back half of the building went up in flames. 

He really should have noticed the commotion that surrounded them as they walked to the restaurant from Amy’s apartment, but both of them had been so swept up in their conversation that they hadn’t even noticed the sirens. 

It had all been going so well. He’d arrived at her apartment early - freshly showered, shaved and sporting a new haircut. Her smile was as wide as his when she’d opened her door, and she ushered him in for a quick tour of her place while she grabbed her jacket and purse. Her home was neat, organised, and quintessentially Amy. And he loved it. 

She was wearing a dress, one that he wanted to say was red - but it could have been scarlet or ruby, maroon, maybe even vermillion … really the only word he could think of to properly describe it was _gorgeous._ And, that it almost matched his face whenever he thought about how much he wanted to hold her hand. Or kiss her. God, he _really_ wanted to kiss her. 

There hadn’t been any awkward silence or overlapping words as they begun the short walk to the restaurant, six or so blocks from her apartment. Everything fell so easily into place, the way it always had with her and if Jake was being completely honest, if he had to fill the rest of his days doing exactly that, he wouldn’t be complaining. 

It must have been the mumble of the crowd as they began to dissipate, intercepting his and Amy’s path as they got nearer to the restaurant, that finally pulled them out of their bubble. Red and blue lights skimmed over the nearby buildings, and as they reached the corner of the last block in their trip Jake felt his stomach begin to sink. _No way. There is no way that this could be happening._

But it was. And now their dinner plans, and any other plans he may have had for the night ahead, were literally up in smoke. _This is a disaster,_ Jake thought, still rooted to the sidewalk as his mind tried desperately to make sense of the nonsense.

Beside him, Amy speaks. “This was going to be where we had dinner, wasn’t it?”

Brows drawn together, all Jake can do is nod.

“Boy, they weren’t joking when they said their flambé dessert was a show stopper.”

He laughs, snorting slightly as he turns towards his date. _She really is amazing._ “And, well, at least you know they definitely offer a char-grilled steak.”

She giggles, eyes bright as she takes in the scene, turning back towards Jake. “I’m guessing this wasn’t really part of the plan?”

“Definitely not, no.” _And a Friday night, in Brooklyn … they weren’t going to get a table anywhere._

Biting her lip (a move that he would be lying if he didn’t say he was _dying_ to do, himself), she turns back to him. “I have an idea.”

“Amy Santiago to the rescue?”

“Something like that. What are your thoughts on street meat?”

Mystery food from carts rolled around the city and housed in questionable conditions were actually his specialty, and definitely not something that he would have ever considered for an ideal first date menu. But when Amy suggested it, he could feel the smile returning to his face - partially in relief, and partly because every time he even began to forget how incredible she was, she went and did something like that.

“I’m game if you are.”

Wrapping one hand around his bicep, Amy pulls him in a different direction and he stumbles for a second, heart relocating to his throat because _Amy Santiago was now holding his arm_.

“There’s a place I know, not far from here. Their kebabs are amazing, and their pizza? Next. Level.”

Yeah. _Definitely_ amazing.

 

 

Amy stands beside Jake and watches as he peruses the short menu stuck to the front of the cart. It was crazy, really, that they had ended up here on their first date - options like these should really only be introduced after the fifth or sixth date, if her previous studies had proven. And maybe it was that she had known Jake for a little while now, and all of those awkward moments with relative strangers simply hadn’t happened. Or maybe it was just that between the two of them, things were just that _easy_.

The night air swept past her suddenly, working its way through the fabric of her dress and causing her skin to shiver ever so slightly. She moves to cross her arms in front of herself in an effort to stay warm, but before her arms have even left her side a warm jacket is being placed across her shoulders and the scent of Jake’s aftershave begins to wash over her.

Amy turns to him, the surprise evident on her face, and he simply smiles back with a shrug. 

Oh boy, she was in trouble. 

The moustached man behind the cart gestures for them to come forward, and she places her order quickly, turning to Jake with a smile as he orders something very similar. He was so handsome tonight, with his freshly cut hair and nerves vibrating underneath his skin. This was obviously important to him, and she was endlessly thankful that he’d summoned up the courage to ask her out. If he hadn’t, and the ball had been in her court, who knows how long it could have taken?

Clutching their fine cuisine, Amy uses her spare hand to pull Jake’s jacket closer to herself as she leads him further down the block, stopping at the wrought iron fence of a community garden. It had been a local project overseen by her brother Manny for the past four months, and something that she loved to help him with on during her free time. As a result, she had a key to the padlock tucked in with her house keys, and she dug it out of her purse now with a flourish.

“Wait a minute … are you some kind of mystical being, with a key to every lock in the city?”

Laughing, she shakes her head before handing him her dinner and getting to work on the padlock, explaining it’s origin as the gate swings open with a quiet squeak. Moving quickly along the constructed path, she watches Jake’s face carefully as she reaches behind a nib wall, flicking on the switch her brother had installed - immediately illuminating the garden with hundreds of fairy lights. 

“Oh my god, Amy …. forget all the other places. _These_ are the best seats in Brooklyn.”

She laughs again, heart skipping a beat at his smile, grabbing a blanket from the concealed storage box before walking back over to him. Both settling themselves down on a grassy spot, Amy turns towards Jake, handing over his dinner from its resting spot on the blanket, smiling in anticipation.

“Okay. Prepared to be amazed, Jacob.”

He takes a bite of the pizza, folding the slice in half like any self-respecting New Yorker, and moans in awe. “Ames! This is sooo good.” Another bite. “To think this came from a street cart. I feel like such a chump ordering from dumb restaurants while this bad boy has been rolling around town.”

Nodding enthusiastically, Amy takes a bite of her own, closing her eyes in silent veneration. “I know, right? I tried it out last month in a moment of desperate hunger, and I’ve never looked back. It’s the best kept secret in Brooklyn, Jake - swear you’ll keep it that way!”

Looking over at her, he takes one hand and makes a _x_ sign across his heart while he chews. It was so adorably sweet. _He_ was so adorably sweet. His eyes crinkle as he smiles, a tiny spot of sauce smudged on his cheek, and it’s all she can do to not lean over and lick it off. _Be cool, Amy._

 

 

 

“So, I’m sure by now you’ve figured out who my father is. Was. _Is_.”

They had fallen into a comfortable silence as both finished their dinner - occasionally filling the space with conversations about everything and nothing (and whatever lay in between). All had remained quiet for the last few minutes, though, and now Amy wonders if maybe Jake had been building up the courage to speak. His eyes were trained away from her, seemingly studying a rose bush that had been planted in the garden across from them. 

She nods, remembering her promise to Charles. “I mean, the whole same surname thing kinda gave it away.”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s not as though it’s a secret, but … it’s not something that I’m wholly proud of, either.”

She’s dying to know more, and not because she was a fan, but because she can almost feel the weight of Jake’s memories on his shoulders. Letting the silence sit for a moment, she leans slightly closer before speaking. “How so?”

Jake shakes his head, and briefly Amy is terrified that she pushed too far. But then he leans back on his hands, dinner long since gone, and turns his head towards her again. “The band started when I was only a toddler, so I don’t really have any memories that don’t involve them in one way or another. I remember that for _years_ , the guys would forever be over at our place, rehearsing through song after song, trying to find that elusive big hit.”

He bends, feet scuffing against the blanket as he tents his legs and rests his arms against his knees.

“It was years before they really made the big time, and in the beginning they were _determined_ to remain humble, you know? Dad still came home every night - still preferred a home cooked dinner to any of the fine dining the record companies kept throwing his way. Mom was _so_ proud, so quick to brag about how well they were doing whenever we ran into someone she knew.”

Amy smiles at the thought, licking her fingers clean as she polishes off her last slice.

“And then … the tours started. And let me tell you, there is _nothing_ glamorous about touring. More bodies than should be legally allowed to be squished into a van, sleeping on too small bunks as someone drove 20 miles over the limit just to make it to the next city in time for yet another show. It stank, of bodies and booze and stale food. Mom and I only did a couple of trips before she decided it was better for us to just stay at home.”

“But your Dad kept on touring?”

He nods. “Honestly, it made perfect sense at first. I was in school, Mom had her work commitments, and Dad had his - the only difference was, that Dad’s job meant that he had to be away sometimes. Lots of kids had parents whose jobs took them away for a little while, so nothing about it seemed weird, you know?”

“And then, he would be different when he came home. Some nights he would stumble in the door, wave at us vaguely before staggering into bed and not surfacing for a solid 13 hours. Other nights he would jump around the room, regaling us all night long with old tales of so-called ‘electric’ performances, getting us to mimic the crowd as he would dance around the living room - jumping on the coffee table and strumming his air guitar as though his life depended on it. He would stink of alcohol, but by that stage I was so used to it that I just kind of associated it as part of being a musician. I never noticed the way my mother would recoil whenever he leant towards her.”

He shifts again, leaning his weight onto one forearm as he stretches his legs out again. His body, now completely facing Amy, remained tense as he continued his story.

“And then they released what turned out to be their biggest album. And what we all thought of as the big time before was literally _nothing_ compared to this. There were no more tour buses. Only private jets and months away and faces on magazines. Kids that had never spoken a word to me were suddenly acting as though they were my best friend. And the rumours, of drug use and lines of women outside hotel rooms, were beginning to swirl.”

She can’t keep her face from falling, twisting her waist until her body is mirroring Jake’s, curling her legs behind as much as her dress would allow. 

“After that, whenever he would come home, he would be _different_. There was this emptiness in his eyes, as though physically he was here but the rest of him was somewhere else entirely. Paps would follow us everywhere, and every day would bring in more incriminating photos - him with other women, shots of destroyed hotel rooms … you name it, he’d done it.”

He glances away for a moment, shaking his head in frustration.

“Every time he came home, he and mom fought like cats and dogs. He kept denying it - the drug use, the infidelity … all of it. Which was ridiculous, because mom literally had photo evidence of everything.” 

“Sounds as though it was easier for him to believe his own lies than it was to acknowledge the reality of things,” Amy suggested, and Jake nodded in agreement.

“I remember, one birthday of mine, where he appeared in the middle of a party my mom had put together for me and all of my friends. Completely showed up out of nowhere, holding a bunch of helium balloons with the number ten on them, calling out for all these clowns that he had hired to come join us in the backyard, coz _‘his son only turns ten once, and why have one clown when you can have ten?’_. And he was right, ten clowns for my tenth birthday would have been pretty cool. But it was my fourteenth. He was so coked up, that he genuinely couldn’t remember that I had turned ten _four damn years ago_.” 

It feels futile, but all Amy can do is shake her head.

“And, ya know, I get it …. there were a lot of other kids whose fathers were away when they didn’t want them to be. But _their_ dads would be, oh I don’t know, training for the armed forces, or working on an offshore oil rig or something. They wouldn’t be in some random hotel in god knows what city, screwing yet another groupie and literally forgetting about the family he had left behind in Brooklyn.”

“I’m so sorry, Jake.”

“Anyway. After that day, he and mom fought more and more … until one day I realised that it had been months since the band’s most recent tour had finished, and he’d simply never come home.”

A silence falls between the two of them, hundreds of words jumbling around Amy’s mind as she struggles to understand _how_ somebody could do that to their own child.

Bending his knees back towards his chest, Jake begins to pick at the grass along the edge of the blanket. “It’s just … there’s always a moment, you know? That pause in your thoughts, or that break in the commotion, where you have to decide. I can do this - and break the people that love me - or I can walk away and fight for better. And I’m not sure when his was, or if he even had one. But I really wish he’d made a different choice.”

“Do you ever speak to him, now that you’re older and his limelight has faded a little?”

He nods, right hand reaching up to rub his temples briefly. “Yeah, sometimes he’ll call or send a text. Usually links up with some kind of interview that’s about to come out … some ‘where are they now’ piece that he’d put his hand up for. Sometimes he’ll over to come visit, go play catch in the park or something equally ridiculous. But something always comes up” he pauses, with a roll of his eyes. “You could almost set a clock by it.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Jake turns his head back towards her, a small smile playing on his features as he replies. “You can ask me anything.”

_Oh._ “Why did you choose to work in the music industry, then? I mean, if all of your childhood memories involve what they do, why choose Studio Ninety-Nine?”

He raises his eyebrows, obviously not expecting the question. “Ah, well … it’s for the love of the beast, to be honest. In between all of the bad stuff, I have some pretty great memories of watching Roger standing on stage, holding out the mic as literally _thousands_ of people would shout the lyrics to his songs back to him. It’s intoxicating, moments like that. You can’t produce that atmosphere on an album, or stick it into a podcast. Music has literally surrounded me from the beginning, and if I wasn’t doing it anymore, I’m pretty sure I would feel as though I’ve left a part of me behind.”

She nods in understanding.

“I just …” he pauses for a moment, eyes drifting away again. “I can only hope that others see my father’s descent as a cautionary tale. A lesson on what not to do, I guess.”

Amy studies him for another minute, eyes free to sweep over his features while his attention is focused on the garden beds in front of them. He had just shared so much of himself to her, without any prompting, and it would have been completely forgivable if his next reaction was just to start building smaller walls, pushing to replace the ones he’d just broken down in front of her. 

Instead, he looked infinitely more relaxed - as though all the things he had been dying to say for _so long_ were finally out in the open, and that this was a newer Jake, a Post-Revelations Jake if you will - one that was free of his father’s hauntings, sharing a surname with him and nothing more. 

He smiles over at her, catching her in the act before reaching out to gently cup her face in his warm hand. She blushes, ducking her head, and when she looks back over at Jake, there’s a new look that she _can’t quite_ name in his eyes. Clearing his throat, he stands and extends his hand down to her, squeezing her fingers as he helps her up.

“Come with me? I wanna show you something.”

Amy was pretty sure she’d follow him anywhere. But he didn’t need to know that just yet. Instead, she nods, biting her lip as he keeps a hold of her hand, intertwining their fingers and pulling her towards his mysterious destination.

They didn’t have to walk long, and she looks over at him in confusion as they approach the studio. 

“Did you forget something?” she asks as he leads her to the stage door on the side of the building. He shakes his head, choosing to stay silent as he throws her a wink before pulling out his keys and getting to work on the lock. 

She giggles as he pulls her inside, feeling oddly voyeuristic despite knowing that Jake could enter the studio whenever he needed to, really. Despite the size of the venue, the lack of lighting and Jake’s hand in hers made her feel as though they had entered into their own little private bubble - somewhere nobody could find them, and nobody could interrupt. 

“Nuh-uh! No working during drinking hours, Jake! You of all people should know that!” she jokes, and his laughing response echoes over the empty theatre.

“Don’t tell me there aren’t binders in your office you’d love to crack open, Ames. But no, I’ve got something else in mind.” He leads her over to the front row, gesturing for her to sit in the very centre seat before finally releasing her hand with one last squeeze.

“Stay there. I’ll be right back.” With a cheeky grin, he disappears towards the stage and ducks behind the curtain - returning quickly with a barstool in one hand and a guitar in the other. 

The enormity of this moment isn’t lost to Amy, and she doesn’t even attempt to hide the giant smile that is beginning to take over her face. He’s going to sing for her, and she knows how much that means. 

He clears his throat nervously, positioning the barstool at the front of the stage directly in front of Amy. One hand now free, he runs his hand along the back of his neck as his face flushes slightly before raising it in a show of defence. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to screech more terrible music at you.”

She laughs, eager to calm his nerves, before leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees and dropping her head into her hands. Smiling down at her from his position on the stage, Jake perches himself on the bar stool, lifts his guitar strap until it rests on the back of his neck, and begins to play.

Amy quickly recognises the melody.

_“Though I’ve tried before to tell her, of the feelings I have for her in my heart”_

His fingers move easily across the frets, thumb plucking at the strings as a faraway look falls over his face.

_“Every time that I come near her, I just lose my nerve as I’ve done from the start”_

He looks over at her now, smiling in the break before he continues.

_“Every little thing she does is magic. Everything she do just turns me on. Even though my life before was tragic, now I know my love for her goes on.”_

Amy’s heart had relocated itself to the back of her throat, and her smile had taken over the majority of her face. The fact that Jake now felt comfortable enough to sing to her - _really_ sing - meant more than she could explain. She had always loved this song, but listening to Jake sing the lyrics to her changed their meaning completely. 

He continues on to the next verse, and her feet are moving before she even realises. Jake’s eyes follow her as she moves to the side of the stage, his strumming faltering slightly until she reaches the stairs and begins to ascend. 

His fingers continue to move across the guitar, playing purely out of muscle memory as he foregoes the rest of the lyrics, words dying on his lips - far too invested in what Amy is doing to continue singing. She crosses the stage quickly, tucking her hair back as she approaches before coming to a stop in front of him.

Earnest eyes look up at her, and with a smile she reaches out one hand to stroke his face. And then she leans in, and kisses him.

A few distorted notes escape before the music stops completely, and he cranes his neck to meet her lips with his as they move together. Slowly, carefully, he begins to stand and uses the leg that had been resting on the footrest to push the stool away from him, lips fused to hers all the while.

Amy pulls away first, watching Jake with hopeful eyes as he smiles over at her, gripping the strap on his guitar and twisting until the instrument rested against his back and out of their way. He’s back within a second, eyes soft as he reaches out to thread his fingers through her hair, gripping the back of her neck as he pulls her back in for another kiss. 

It was longer this time, bodies closer now that there wasn’t a guitar between them. Jake’s other hand moves across her back, sliding up gently as the kiss deepens and both of their mouths part. Her left hand moves up from his face and into his hair, tugging softly as their tongues tangle, and with her right she pulls his waist closer to hers. The ring her abuela gave to her at graduation clinked against the wood of the guitar that rested against his shoulder blades, and for the moment it was the only sound on the stage. 

There was only one way to describe this kiss. It was magic.

They part a short while later, both taking in deep breaths as they try to come down from the impossible high. His eyes were warmer now, smiling as he watches her carefully and she drops her hand back down to his neck, caressing his skin softly as she speaks.

“Take me home, Jake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so this was a long one ... but there's something about Jake & Amy and Dates that just makes me want to write forever. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Song at the end, for those playing at home, is Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic, by The Police. Karamel fans may recognise the cover by Sleeping At Last, and there's a really sweet acoustic version, which in my mind is how Jake sounds in this chapter, that you can find [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlVCfB9huKU)
> 
> Chapter title courtesy of and oldie but a goodie by Ben Lee.
> 
> And lastly, I have to say a HUGE thank you for all of you that have left me a comment or a kudos. They mean more to me than I can say. Please continue, if you can. They are my oatmeal.


	6. Crack The Shutters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So … about your singing. There’s something I should probably tell you.”
> 
> “Oh god, you hate it don’t you? You think I’m terrible. You’re not wrong. Ugh, and I’ve been singing at you all morning! I’msosorryjustletmethrowthisinthedumpsterrealquick!”
> 
> “No no no - Jake, wait! It’s just ... There were a lot of secrets revealed last night, and I think it’s only fair that I reciprocate.”
> 
> “I don’t know, you did let me in on the Super Secretly Amazing Pizza street cart guy last night. That, I will take with me to my grave.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know ... I’m late! Again! And I’m sorry - but I’m overseas at the moment and the time zones & different languages and alllll of those things made me completely lose track of my days. So here we are .... better late than never, right?

**Chapter Six - Crack The Shutters**

 

The sun warmed Amy’s legs as they poked out of the sheets. Blue sheets - different from the ones that were on her mattress at home - but draped across her body nonetheless. 

Slowly blinking herself awake, she twists her body slightly, curling into the pillow as her mind begins to recount the night before. Nervous smiles. Plans literally going up in flames. Pizza. Singing. And then, _Jake._

Jake, with his gentle kisses across her skin. Jake, with fingers slightly calloused from guitar strings, running his hands all over body. Jake, stage manager of Studio Ninety-Nine, and owner of the blue sheets her very naked body was wrapped in. 

Her body ached deliciously as more snippets come to mind, and already eager for more she reaches out a hand to the other side of the bed, frowning when she finds it empty. 

Still warm - _so the whole thing wasn’t a hallucination_. And then, Amy begins to hear the strum of a guitar. 

She lifts her head, concentrating on the sound as she looks over to her right. Jake lived in a studio apartment, and Amy had never really appreciated the absence of walls until this very moment. For if they’d been at her place, or anywhere else really, she might have missed out on the scene in front of her, and that truly would have been a crime. 

Jake sat, shirtless and facing away from her, perched on the arm of his couch. The end of his guitar peeked out from one side, and his head was bowed in concentration. The broad muscles in his back rippled as his hands moved across the guitar ( _he was more ripped than she had anticipated - a delightful discovery she had made the night before_ ), leading her eye down the expanse of his back before resting on the edge of his boxers. 

Amy is fairly certain that a view like that could _never_ get old. 

Jake, clearly unaware of his audience behind him, began to sing. 

_”Show is over, close the story book - there will be no encore.”_

Like a moth to a flame, Amy rises quickly - wrapping the top sheet around her body as she moves toward Jake, stepping carefully to avoid the trail of their clothes that led to his bed. 

Dropping a gentle kiss to the back of his neck as she approaches, Jake looks up in surprise but continues. _”You are more beautiful when you awake, than most are in a lifetime.”_

Feeling her face flush, Amy tightens the sheet around her self consciously. She settles in against the edge of the coffee table, facing him directly and he continues to sing, but for a moment she finds herself unable to take in anything but the view. 

He winks, smiling through the lyrics. _“I know I can be colourful, I know I can be grey.”_

This is definitely the best way to wake up. _Ever._

_“But I know this loser’s living fortunate, coz I know you will love me either way.”_

Brushing her knee against Jake’s, Amy leans forward slightly and runs her hand through his messy bed head. His hands falter against the strings, finding better use in gripping her wrist and pulling her closer for a kiss. 

“Good morning.”

“It _is_ a good morning, yes.”

He laughs, such a gentle sound, and secretly she wants to hear it forever. “Sorry if I woke you. I guess I just felt a little inspired.”

Casting the guitar aside in favour of pulling her into his lap, his hands move underneath her blanket-robe until they reach her skin. She shivers against his touch, and she can’t be sure if it’s because of his cold hands or because it’s _him_. 

More kisses, deeper this time, both of them in that happy bubble of discovery where morning breath simply doesn’t matter. Gripping her arms around his neck Amy is careful not to lean too far back, aware that they are only on the armrest but too wrapped up in Jake to care for moving. She honestly wanted to wake up this way for the rest of life. 

His lips move to her neck, dotting soft kisses against her skin as he pushes part of the blanket away, trailing toward her collarbone. “I’ve gotta say,” he mumbled against her skin, “this is the best that I have _ever_ seen my sheets look.”

Amy chuckles softly, moving her hair to one side and giving Jake better access. “What can I say, sheet-chic is a look that I pull off well.” 

“ _So_ well. Thank god you’ve never worn this to work, I wouldn’t have lasted the day.”

At the mention of work, Amy can feel a part of her stiffen as the reality of what they were doing began to hit her. Realistically, there was no need to worry. They were both single, consenting adults who _really_ enjoyed seeing each other naked. But mixing work and pleasure was something she had always tried her hardest to avoid, for a multitude of reasons. Reasons, that were beginning to fade with every kiss Jake left on her skin. 

His hands stilled momentarily, pulling away from her slightly and locking his eyes onto hers. “What’s wrong, Ames?” 

“Jake, are we crazy for doing this?”

His hand, that had lingered on her waist, froze in place. “What do you mean?”

“I mean ... we work together, sort of. I know I’m just the PR girl. But I’ve always kept my work and home life completely separate - until now. What if something goes wrong?” 

“For starters, Ames - you were _never_ just the PR girl. Not to me. Not to anyone at the studio. No way. And secondly, yes. Maybe we are crazy for doing this. But ..” he pauses, searching for the right words. “I kind of feel that we’d be even crazier if we _didn’t_ do this. I mean, sure, something might go wrong. But I just feel like regardless, we’ll figure it out.”

“You really think so?”

“All I know is that I _really_ love spending time with you. Don’t you? With me, I mean?”

“God, yes. You’re totally my favourite person.”

“Then what else could possibly matter?” 

She leans forward at this, resting her forehead against his and smiling as the hand on her waist starts stroking her skin again. “So, we’re really doing this?”

“It’ll either be the best or worst decision of our lives. But either way, I’m all in.” 

Biting her lip softly, Amy can feel herself melt again against Jake’s touch. _All in._ She kisses him, soft and chaste, before pulling away slightly. If they were going to do this, there was something he needed to know. 

“So … about your singing. There’s something I should probably tell you.”

“Oh god, you hate it don’t you? You think I’m terrible. You’re not wrong. Ugh, and I’ve been singing at you all morning! I’msosorryjustletmethrowthisinthedumpsterrealquick!”

“No no no - Jake, wait! It’s just ... There were a lot of secrets revealed last night, and I think it’s only fair that I reciprocate.”

“I don’t know, you did let me in on the Super Secretly Amazing Pizza street cart guy last night. That, I will take with me to my grave.”

She smiles proudly at the display of solidarity.

“And, look … I don’t exactly _mean_ for this to sound like a euphemism, but you did let me in to your secret garden last night.”

Amy gasps, laughs and hits Jake on the shoulder all in the span of a second. “Jake!”

“Hey! I meant the community garden thingy. Sorry if your mind went somewhere else, _perve_!” 

“Anyway ... What I was going to say was ... I _kinda_ already knew you could sing. As in, REALLY sing. Not just screaming Beyonce covers.”

“Wait - _what?_ ”

“Please, please don’t be mad. It was all an accident - or at least, the first time was ..”

“The firs-Ames, _what are you saying?_ ”

“It was after the first concert I saw at the studio. Everyone had gone home, and I was still cooking the books - and then I heard what turned out to be you singing.”

Jake had turned quiet, waiting for Amy to continue with raised eyebrows. 

“You were on the stage, completely wrapped up in the song, and I just couldn’t bring myself to interrupt you. And after that, I was kind of hooked.”

 

 

Jake studied Amy carefully, taking in her wide brown eyes and the earnestness of her gaze as he listens to her explanation. To be fair, he had taken to singing on stage a lot more since she’d entered the studio - it was inevitable that he would get busted eventually. 

What he loved, though, was the way she spoke about his music with such a look of pride in her eyes. In the past, whenever a woman he was dating figured out who his father was, or heard him sing, he could literally see the dollar signs flash in their eyes. They saw him as their ticket to fame: a well-known surname that they could casually drop in conversation, and a performer with a special set of skills that would bring them fortune and all the spoils that came with it. 

But not Amy. 

Sitting in his lap, twisting the ring on her finger nervously and biting her lip, he could see her intentions were genuine. She wasn’t interested in anything but him. He didn’t quite understand how, but she saw through all the facades he had built. 

She saw him, and his love for music and nothing more - and it was so refreshing.

“Ames, it’s okay. I get it. I wasn’t very good at hiding it.”

The relief is evident as her eyes light up. “Really?”

“Really, really.”

She smiles again, a move that never fails to tug at his heart. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re amazing.”

He grins at her, half cocky and half humble as he leans in for a soft kiss. “You too, Ames. Last night was incredible.”

“….. I was actually referring to your singing, but I can’t say I disagree with the other stuff either. And at the risk of giving you a giant ego, I have to say it. _Mind-blowing_ , Jake. Truly.”

_So it hadn’t just been him._ “Oh god, I know, right?! Completely off the charts kind of stuff, Ames. Crazy, stupid good. We are _definitely_ going to have to do that again.”

She giggles, blushing slightly as she drops her head to the base of his neck again. “Seriously, though. You sing like you love it. And I _loved_ what you sang for me last night.”

Kissing her forehead, he waits until she lifts her head back up before speaking. “That song has been playing in my head on repeat for _days._. It’s like it followed you, whenever you entered into the room. I thought I was losing my mind. And after unloading _so_ much stuff about my dad onto you, it just seemed like what I needed to do.”

Amy places both of her hands on either side of his neck, causing the blanket to drop to her waist. “Jake, I love that you felt comfortable enough to tell me everything that you did. Any time you want to talk, I am absolutely here to listen.”

His brain began to short circuit as he suddenly remembered that a very naked - save for a flimsy sheet - Amy Santiago was sitting on his lap. “Okay, I know that you’re saying really sweet things right now - and truly, _thank you_ \- but as long as you’re sitting here, looking like that, there’s no way I’m going to be able to concentrate on anything else.”

She laughs, standing quickly and foregoing the sheet entirely. “Well then, Jacob, I guess we’re just going to have to find a better way to spend our time.”

His legs feel cold in her absence, and he stands quickly as his eyes take greedily over her body. 

“I’m sure we could think of a few things.”

“Race you to the shower? Winner takes all.”

“I though you’d never ask.”

Yep. _Definitely a good morning._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cuddly mornings after sexy times are the best, aren’t they? 
> 
> Title courtesy of Snow Patrol. The song Jake sings is Colourful, by The Verve Pipe. If there’s any songs you think I should feature, let me know! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are my favourite source of validation and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Please, feel free to leave either or both!


	7. Cheers Darlin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are totally right, babe. He is a jerk. A total _Jerky McJerkface_. It only took three minutes of conversation to realise it.”
> 
>  
> 
> Tucking her face into his neck as she tightens her grip, Amy smiles against his skin. He _is_ a Jerky McJerkface. And she loved Jake for noticing it. _Wait._ Not _loved_. But then he nudges her hair with his nose, breathing in her perfume with a contented sigh, and she thinks that maybe she _is_ in love. That maybe it _wasn’t_ too soon, and that maybe this was it for her.

**Chapter Seven - Cheers Darlin’**

Amy sighed, leaning her head against the window of her car as she sat amongst the traffic. Her day so far had been mediocre, at best. Just the usual conferences and phone calls, only to then have to spend longer than she should have with a 'colleague', Keith, who had stolen an account right from underneath her. When she’d argued her case, and the immaturity of his move, he’d suggested with his _feral_ grin that perhaps Amy was getting ‘too close’ to her clients.

Truthfully, Amy had expected a bit of backlash from her colleagues once her relationship with Jake became public information (or, for lack of a better title, ‘Facebook Official’). But everyone had been either incredibly supportive - or incredibly disinterested, as was the case with her boss - and she’d actually begun to feel proud of the forward thinking attitude of her office. And then, there was Vulture Keith. Who was so lacking in his own skills that he had to stoop to such ridiculous levels to steal even her easiest of accounts. 

_Whatever._

She had been all geared towards heading straight home and drowning her sorrows, when her phone had vibrated with a text from Jake. He had good news for her, it declared, and before she knew what she was doing Amy had turned the car around, heading straight towards the studio.

Taking in the new exterior as she approached - including an increased presence of posters advertising upcoming acts, and a noticeable decrease in graffiti - Amy couldn’t help but feel a little shiver of pride run through her. _She had done this_. And nobody could take that away from her. And then she walked into the building and her eyes land on Jake, and it’s instantly the favourite part of her day.

He’s standing on the stage, one hand in his pocket as he talked to Charles when she first notices him. A pretty normal scene, really. But it was what he was wearing that stopped Amy in her tracks. 

_Oh, mama._

Jake wore a plain blue button down, over light grey slacks, and - the best part of it all - a necktie in a complimentary blue remained tied to his collar. A blazer, that matched the slacks, was hanging loosely folded over one arm. The arm of a pair of glasses peeked out of the breast pocket, and she’s never been more attracted to him. 

She remembered, as she picked up the pace, that today was going to be the meeting between Jake & the owners. Last week he had brought up an idea he’d had: to transform the recently vacated building next to the studio into a bar/restaurant, with the aim of joining to the two businesses together and giving patrons a place to drink before and after the show. She had been _so_ proud to listen to his pitch, waiting patiently as he went over it (again and again), and she secretly loved how invested he had become in seeing the studio grow. Perhaps even more secretly - even to herself - she was beginning to love _him_.

He smiles as she draws closer, face brightening and quickly wrapping up his conversation with Charles. 

“Ames!” he calls out, pulling his hand out of his pocket to raise it in a wave. Charles, not even trying to hide his response, lets out an excited squeal before racing off stage and giving the two of them privacy.

Jake kneels down as Amy stops, reaching the edge of the stage as she pulls on his dangling tie - bridging the gap between them with a kiss she was dying to go deeper with. _This_. This is what she’d been needing all day. 

“So, how’d it go?” she asked as they parted, smile still playing on her lips.

“Hold on, I’m gonna need another one of those first” he answered, quickly moving along the edge of the stage, dangling his legs down as he drops to the floor to meet her with another kiss. His arms wrap around her waist, taking advantage of their new closeness as both of them got briefly lost in the moment. Guess she wasn’t the only one who’d been needing a kiss today.

“Much better” he sighed, pulling away but still leaving his hands resting on her waist. “And today went _amazing_ , to answer your question. They loved it.”

She smiles brightly, raking one hand through his hair. “I knew it! It’s a great idea, Jake. Really.”

He drops another quick kiss to her lips as a thank you. “And they want to get started on it straight away, soooo Ms PR Extraordinaire …”

Stepping back quickly, Amy raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Wait, there’s no event planner?”

Shrugging, Jake reaches for her hand and quickly squeezes it. “I mean, we _could_ , but I think you would do a much better job. Plus, I just bought all these new binders for you to fill in with restaurant stuff …” he trails off, gesturing with his free hand towards a bag waiting on a seat, adorned with the name of her favourite stationery store.

“New binders?!” Resisting the urge to head straight over them, Amy places both hands on either side of his neck. “Jake, you just earned yourself round two tonight!”

“Round two? _Noice._ Hey, not complaining, but … when did I earn round one?”

Amy rakes her eyes up and down Jake’s suit in lieu of an answer, biting her lip when they land back on his face. 

“Okay, okay okay okay okay! Amy’s a fan of the suit, good to know … Hey, Ames?”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s get outta here.”

“ _Absolutely_.”

 

 

 

It had taken just over three weeks (it was amazing what could get done in Brooklyn for the right price), but it was finally opening night for The Precinct - Studio Ninety-Nine’s adjoining bar and restaurant. 

Taking any opportunity as an excuse for date night, Jake and Amy had dressed for the occasion with Amy pulling out all the stops in a black dress that Jake _couldn’t wait_ to unzip. He had whispered as much in her ear this evening as he’d forced the zipper upwards, and her soft giggle had gone straight to his heart.

He watched her from the other side of the room now, admiring her professionalism as she charmed the crowd. It had been just over a month since they had started dating, and he’d honestly never felt happier. She simply made everything _better_ , and with her by his side Jake had a newfound sense of confidence that had led them to this very night. Amy was easily the best thing that had ever happened to him. 

Catching his eye from her position, she smiled at him in that way that never failed to make his heart race, and a fleeting thought runs through his mind that maybe he was falling in love with her. Which was insane, obviously. Except that _maybe it wasn’t._

She was a beautiful woman, with the sharpest mind he’d ever known. And for some inexplicable reason, she shared her bed with him most nights. If she felt for him even a _half_ of what he felt for her, he’d consider himself the luckiest man alive. 

As she started to walk towards him, Jake took another sip from the glass of champagne in his hand, trying to calm his nerves. _Be cool, Peralta._ Don’t scare away the beautiful woman. 

 

 

Amy smiled over at her boyfriend as she crossed the room, glancing quickly at the soft lighting and industrial style furniture they had chosen for the restaurant. It had turned out so perfectly, and she was endlessly proud that it had all been Jake’s idea. 

His hand reached immediately for her waist as she stops in front of him, and Amy drops a chaste kiss to Jake’s lips, careful to avoid leaving any lipstick behind. The warmth of his touch transfers through the dress, and she squirms inwardly as she feels her stomach drop. He was wearing a suit tonight, and he _knows_ what him in a suit does to her. 

“I’ve got to say Jake, I think The Precinct is going to be a roaring success. Congratulations,” she offers, lifting up her champagne glass to clink with his. 

He smiles in gratitude, running his hand up and down her waist and winking when he notices her shiver. “Thanks, babe. I’m definitely looking forward to celebrating with you later.” 

_Babe._ A word that was still new to her ears, and never failed to make her heart skip a beat. Amy never thought she’d be the girl that melted at such ridiculous terms of endearment. And yet, here she was, heart pounding with pride at the newfound title of _babe_. She blushes, temporarily unable to speak as he smiles over at her. This was ridiculous - she was acting like she was twelve all over again, standing in front of her new crush. 

Thankfully, Jake changes the conversation, announcing he had something to show her and grasping her hand tightly - leading Amy over to the bar, stopping only when they are in front of a tall, beautiful woman with dark curly hair. She wore a black leather jacket, and a ‘don’t f*ck with me’ face. 

“Ames, this is Rosa. She’s our new bartender.” 

“Hi.” 

Obviously, she’s not one for long conversations. 

“Lovely to meet you, I’m Amy - I look after the PR for the studio and …” Amy begins, pausing as she watches Rosa lift various bottles and start pouring into a glass, never breaking eye contact with Amy as she moves. 

She shoves the resulting drink across the bar to Amy. “Here, drink this. It’s an Old Fashioned.” 

“Oh, actually I was going to order a vodka li-“ 

“Forget that jazz. _This_ is your drink.” 

Amy throws a dubious look in Jake’s direction, only to be met with a wink. _Traitor._

It’s not like she’s a grown-ass woman who already knows what she does and doesn’t like. And she likes a vodka soda with lime. But sure, whatever. Bottoms up. 

And _damn._

She _is_ a grown-ass woman, who knows what she damn well wants. But also, _she’ll be damned if this isn’t her drink_. It tasted like liquid gold, and she unashamedly drained the glass with one final sip. She can see Jake in her peripheral, smiling in surprise as she dumps the empty cup onto the bar and fights the instinct to reach over and kiss the smirk off his lips. 

“Okay, you got me. I’m impressed. _That_ is my drink.” Amy admits with a small shrug, still slightly withering under Rosa’s hard gaze. 

Instantly the woman’s hard demeanour softens, bursting into a bright smile as she reaches over to give Jake a high five. “YES! That’s six for six! You owe me ten bucks!” 

Her boyfriend laughs, and hands over the ten dollar bill with a grimace. “She has this unexplainable skill of knowing exactly what you’ll like,” he explains, turning to Amy with a shrug. “I really didn’t think she’d be able to crack you though, babe.” 

“Don’t even try to figure out my secret. I’m taking it to my grave.” Rosa interrupts, shooting a glare in both their direction before marching over to the next patron. 

“Well, she seems … nice?” Amy offers, waiting until Rosa is out of earshot. Jake laughs at her reaction, running one hand down her arm before linking their fingers and leading her away from the bar. 

“I know she seems like a lot, but honestly, she’s pretty great. I think Charles has a little bit of a crush on her.” 

A familiar song begins to play and Amy pulls Jake onto the dance floor, linking her hands behind his neck as they begin to sway in unison. Charles had taken over the restaurant portion of the new venue, embracing the cooking skills that she’d had no idea even existed until her and Jake had dinner at his place one evening. He’d taken to the role like a duck to water, and she loved seeing him in his element. _But … him and Rosa?_ She wasn’t sure if that was the best fit. 

“Hmm, I don’t know about that one,” she answered pragmatically 

"It doesn’t matter anyway,” Jake responded, pulling her just that little bit closer as the song continued. “She’s dating Gina - that’s how I met her.” 

“Ah, that’s _Miss_ Gina to you, thank you very muchly!” came a third voice, seemingly out of nowhere. Amy pulls away from Jake to investigate, finding a redhead with devious eyes smiling at the two of them. 

“Hi, I’m Gina. Namaslay.” She smiles in Amy’s direction, offering a slight bow. 

“I’m sorry, nama _slay_?” 

“Yes. The slay in me, recognises the slay in you.” 

“Oh. Sure. Okay.” 

Shivers run down her spine as Jake nudges his nose into her hair, dropping a kiss to the side of her neck in an attempt to hide the words he whispered in her ear. “Apparently she’s going through a whole meditation phase. I give it a week.” 

Amy smothers a grin. 

“Uh, excuse rude! Don’t think I can’t tell when you’re talking about me, Jacob. You are not as subtle as you think you are. And this is a _lifestyle_ change, I will have you know. A shift in the state of mind, Linetti style. Not just some gimmick to be _mocked_.” 

Amy’s face turns apologetic, still partially distracted as Jake continues to laugh next to her, running his hand up and down Amy’s back in a seemingly unconscious move. “Sure thing. Sorry, G. You are the next Meditation Queen, and I apologise for doubting you.” 

The redhead throws him another withering stare before twisting on her heel, whipping her hair in a classic Bey move before stalking back towards the bar. 

“Yep, I definitely give it a week.” 

Amy laughs, leaning in for another chaste kiss and resting one hand against Jake’s chest. “Well I’ve gotta say, she’s exactly as you said she would be." 

“What can I say, babe? There’s only one Gina Linetti.” 

“I honestly don’t know if the world is ready for more than one.” 

He laughs in response, pulling her back into his embrace as another song begins. “Hey, did I tell you that I met that guy from your work, Keith, earlier? And you are totally right, babe. He is a jerk. A total _Jerky McJerkface_. It only took three minutes of conversation to realise it.” 

Tucking her face into his neck as she tightens her grip, Amy smiles against his skin. He _is_ a Jerky McJerkface. And she loved Jake for noticing it. _Wait._ Not _loved_. But then he nudges her hair with his nose, breathing in her perfume with a contented sigh, and she thinks that maybe she _is_ in love. That maybe it _wasn’t_ too soon, and that maybe this was it for her. 

Her heart pounds as his mouth drops to her shoulder, mumbling “I don’t know if I’ve already said this already, but you look absolutely beautiful tonight. I’m the luckiest guy in the room.” 

Moving one hand back into his hair she swirls her fingers through gently, smiling when he lifts his head to meet her gaze. “Not in at least half an hour, so thank you. And you look incredibly handsome.” 

“I know, this suit is totally working for me.” 

“It’s working for me, too.” 

“Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to take advantage of me” he replies with a wink. 

“Speaking of being lucky ….” she whispers in his ear, before pulling him in for a deep kiss - lipstick be damned. 

Butterflies burst into Amy’s stomach and her heart begins to pound all over again as Jake’s arms secure themselves around her, the rest of the room fading away. 

There was no denying it - this was love. And it was terrifying and amazing and _everything_ in between. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you look at that, me posting within a week of the last one! Miracles _can_ happen, guys! 
> 
> Chapter title is from Damien Rice (the song doesn't match the chapter, but the title fits so it stays). 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has left comments/kudos over the last few chapters. They fuel my fire more than I can say, and my gratitude is never ending. Please feel free to continue, _I love it dearly._


	8. We Make Our Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crowd was dark against the stage lights, and their noise rumbled against the stage, landing in his chest. He could feel the vibrations of their feet as they stomped, feel the clap of their hands as they struck them together. They were waiting for something - waiting for what they were promised, and he knew that _he was not it_.

****

**Chapter Eight - We Make Our Breaks**

Jake’s heart was pounding at an unnatural rate, the _thump thump thump_ of his pulse visible along the side of his neck.

His hands, slick with sweat, rub against the edge of his jeans, scrambling for purchase and missing their mark time after time. They shake as he raises them up, swiping against his furrowed brow - succeeding only in transferring the sweat from one position to another. 

The crowd was dark against the stage lights, and their noise rumbled against the stage, landing in his chest. He could feel the vibrations of their feet as they stomped, feel the clap of their hands as they struck them together. They were waiting for something - waiting for what they were promised, and he knew that _he was not it_. 

He swallows, throat thick with nerves and dry with anticipation. _Was he really about to do this?_

His stomach bottomed out as the thoughts of every single thing that could go wrong began to race through his head. This was going to be a disaster. _He_ was going to be a disaster. This would be the end of everything.

And yet, he edged himself forward, moving one step closer to the stage.

_One hour earlier …._

Pacing across the The Precinct’s kitchen floor, Jake gripped the phone closely to his ear as he listened closely, face tense as he turned on his heel and began retracing his steps.

Charles watches from his vantage point on the other side of the bench, diced duck breast temporarily forgotten as he listens to the one sided conversation playing out. It had been two months since the bar and restaurant had opened - to _roaring_ success, might he add - and each weekend the concerts were getting bigger and bigger. 

Tonight had been a big coup - The Lincolns, a local band that had experienced a meteoric rise in the last two years, were returning to their roots so to speak and playing at Studio Ninety-Nine. Tickets had sold like wildfire, and all sound checks and rehearsals had gone off without a hitch.

Earlier in the afternoon, the band had left for shawarma, something that they had declared a tradition since their very first live performance, and seemed perfectly logical to Jake as he waved them away.

But that was five hours ago, before the studio began to fill with hordes of people, and before there had been an accident on the freeway that had brought all traffic in their direction to an utter standstill.

In summation - there were hundreds of people, buzzed from a night at the bar, waiting eagerly in their seats for a band that potentially wasn’t going to come. 

“Dammit!” Jake cursed, shoving his phone back into his pocket with one hand, gripping the roots of his hair with the other. Charles winces, turning his attention back to the meat on his chopping board. He knew all the signs of a Peralta Freakout, and Jake was absolutely barrelling towards one tonight. “That was the lead singer. Their driver found a few shortcuts, but they’re still at _least_ an hour away.”

Looking up from his work, Charles wisely puts the knife down and away from Jake. “The concert was only supposed to start now, so with any luck they’re just going to look ostentatiously late. Are there any artists you know that could pull out a support set if you asked?”

“I thought about that, but no … not at the last minute. It’s a Saturday night in Brooklyn - all the good acts have gigs. Even the not so good ones are playing somewhere. We’re screwed, Charles.”

“Welllll,” he squealed. “Not totally screwed, if you think about it.”

Jake watches him from the corner of his eyes, clearly dubious.

“I mean, I can think of one guy who can sing like _nobody’s business_. And I happen to know that he isn’t performing anywhere tonight.”

“PERFECT! Charles! Why didn’t you mention this earlier?! Call him up, let’s get him out here!”

Charles cocks in head in surprise, slightly dismayed that Jake hadn’t picked up on his hinting before now. “I’m talking about you, Jake.”

His friend rolls his eyes, dropping his shoulders and shaking his head in exasperation as he turns back away from Charles. “We’ve talked about this, Charles. I’m not cut out for that."

“Jake, the first few years we hung out, you and that guitar were inseparable. We went to so many open mic nights that I genuinely lost count. And every single time, I would watch the crowd just get swept up in whatever you were doing. If you go out on that stage, I can _guarantee_ you it’ll work.” 

He turns back around, resignation obvious on his face. “I can’t do that, Charles.”

“Look at where I am, Jake. Six months ago, if you’d told me that I’d actually be running the kitchen of a successful restaurant, I would have laughed flat in your face. I mean sure, I loved to cook, but I had a job. And I enjoyed it. There was no reason to change.” he shrugs, eyes drifting over his surroundings before landing on a dish his sous chef was in danger of burning. His feet scurry across the floor, dragging the pan away from the flame and turning off the burner within seconds. Throwing a disparaging look at his underling, he turns back to Jake.

“But when you told me about your plans for this place, and the potential you could see, I just _knew_ that my daydreams about being a chef needed to become a reality. You could have hired any one of the chefs that came knocking when they discovered a restaurant was opening, but you stuck with me, and I will always be grateful for that.”

Jake throws him a casual shrug, face flushing slightly at his friend’s words.

“What I’m saying is, I didn’t see my potential anywhere near as much as you did. And if it hadn’t been for you, I never would have considered this an option. Let me repay the favour. You can do this. You can _absolutely_ do this.” 

He shakes his head. “Back then was different. _This_ is different.”

“I agree. We’re both different people. But we’re smarter, and stronger, and definitely more skilled. I wouldn’t be suggesting this if I didn’t think you were capable, Jake.”

Swivelling on his heels, Jake turns raises his hand to hit the range hood as he passes. “Alright. This has been ridiculous. I’m gonna go find an _actual_ solution for this mess. Great chat, Charles. You’re insane, by the way.”

“Am I, Jake?” he calls out, switching his focus back to the kitchen. “Marcus, what the _hell_ are you doing over there?”

 

 

Jake walked through the hallways between the kitchen and the bar, smiling absently at the passing staff as he frantically checks his messages for any more updates. Nothing had changed, of course, but any distraction was worthy at this point. Charles being the Wise Old Owl was proving too much for him this evening.

What he needed was a voice a reason, a fresh opinion in a night of confusion - and there’s nobody’s opinion who he cared more about than Amy’s. 

He finds her at the bar, elbows resting on coasters to protect her top from the sticky surface and laughing at something Rosa had just said. For two people who’s first interaction had been mainly mono-syllabic, they were fast becoming friends.

Resting his arms on the bar either side of her as he approaches, Jake leans forward to leave a soft kiss on the back of Amy’s neck. She turns her head towards him, allowing Jake to nuzzle into her neck, and he’s briefly reminded of how similar it was to them waking up that very morning. He’d never would have taken himself to be a cuddler, but he kind of loved it.

“The crowd is getting pretty loud out there, babe.” she mumbles into his ear. He’d been texting her his rambling thoughts ever since he realised that the band was not going to get here on time, and she’d been doing her best to keep him from going crazy. 

He settles onto the bar stool next to Amy, resting one hand on her knee and the other on the edge of the bar. “I know. They’re another hour away, at best. Andrew’s done what he can to keep the crowd distracted with tracks from their album, but there’s no way that’ll last the hour.” 

Amy nods at the mention of the newest stage hand. “Yeah, I watched him scramble through here about twenty minutes ago. He looked mildly panicked … which, judging from the look on your face, is only the tip of the iceberg.”

“I was definitely in Full Panic mode … but I feel a lot better now that I’m talking to you.”

“Such smooth lines, Peralta.”

“You bring out the best in me, Ames.”

Blushing, she leans in for a soft kiss, hand lingering on his jawline as they part. From behind them, Rosa scoffs.

“You guys are gross.”

“Please, I’ve seen you and Gina do this. And worse, come to think of it.” Jake counters, raising one eyebrow at the woman behind the bar. 

“True. But we’re hot.” she smirks.

Rolling his eyes, Jake shook his head. Rosa had _no idea_ how hot he and Amy were. How many nights one of them would wake the other for round two (or three). Or how, even this morning in the shower, she’d - 

“Sorry Rosa, could you give us a minute? I think there’s a group of frat guys over there just begging to be mocked, anyway” Amy piped up, interrupting Jake’s thoughts (which was probably for the best, really). 

He smiles sweetly at his friend as she skulks away, before turning back to Amy.

“Charles thinks I should go out there and sing.” he announces, waiting for her snorting laugh in response because the suggestion is _pure insanity_.

Instead, he is met with silence. Incredulous, he turns towards Amy and sees a reluctant look on her face.

“I mean, it’s not the _worst_ idea he’s ever had.”

“No. Ox Tail Sundaes was the worst idea he’s ever had.”

An involuntary shudder runs through her at the memory. 

Gently squeezing the hand that was still on her knee, Jake pulls her attention back to him. “How can I fix this night, Ames? The band is going to be over an hour late. Rosa’s been serving them perfect drinks all night, and their bellies are stuffed from Charles’ awesome menu. They’re ready for a great concert, and when that doesn’t happen they’re going to _eat me alive_.”

“Look. From a PR perspective, it’s not great. But … it is fixable. Like you said, the band is an hour away. So they _are_ coming, they’re just a little late. We get them to post something about what happened tonight, absolving the studio of the blame, and give everyone tonight half price tickets to the next show of their choosing.” 

He nods.

“But …. from a Supportive Girlfriend perspective? I think you could be amazing. You’ve gotten so much more comfortable with yourself. I love it when we’re hanging out - whether it’s my apartment or yours - and you’re just wandering around singing. What was it you were singing to me the other day? There was a line that you kept repeating.”

_“I belong to you, you belong to me - you’re my sweetheart.”_

“Exactly!” she slaps his shoulder. “See how easily you do that, Jake? You have a natural talent. And it doesn’t matter where, or _who_ , you got it from. There’s not a doubt in mind that you could crush this. It’s only one night. What’s the worst that could happen?” 

He drops his head as he mind begins to race. “I just … I don’t even know if they’ll want to listen to me. I mean, why would they?”

“Jake, it’s just a crowd of people, looking to be entertained.”

The sudden impulse to do a Gladiator impression dies on his lips as he sees the sincerity in her eyes. She really does believe in him. The words _I love you I love you I love you _bubble up his throat, but he still can’t bring himself to say the words out loud. Instead, he swallows his nerves (and words), dropping his forehead to hers and whispering “You really think I can do this?”__

____

She bridges the gap with a tender kiss to his shaking lips. “I really do. But I’m not going to make this decision for you. I can’t - _won’t_ \- push you into anything you don’t want to do.”

____

“Best girlfriend ever.”

____

“Was there ever any doubt?” she answers with a wink. Her hands move to the edges of his leather jacket, thumbnails catching the ridges of the zipper as they run up and down while Jake gets lost in his own thoughts. He was crazy to be even considering this. 

____

“Will you come with me?” he whispered in her hair, not even trying to pretend he wasn’t breathing in the scent of her as he spoke.

____

“Like that’s even a question? Jake. There is no place I’d rather be.”

He laughs, partly out of relief and partly because words seem to be failing him right now, reaching for Amy’s hand and pulling her from the barstool before another word is spoken. They needed to move quickly, before his nerves caught up with him and he actually realised what he was about to do. 

Which brings him to this very moment - Jake inching closer to the stage as the choruses of one hundred different songs begin to play out in his mind. _That one could work. No … this one is better for a crowd. But how does the bridge go again? Dammit, Jake. Focus._ Time to take wider steps.

Squinting as the follow spot reaches him, Jake quickly moves one hand up to shield his view as he lets his eyes adjust to the scene in front of him. Faces, all of them unfamiliar, stare back at him, mixtures of curiosity; frustration and anticipation. The noise has stopped, and the silence is deafening. Oddly, his palms didn’t seem so sweaty anymore. ( _Don’t make an 8 Mile reference, Jake. They might not get it_.)

He clears his throat nervously, fiddling with the mic stand until it’s at the perfect height before reaching for the guitar that waited patiently beside.

“Hi everyone. I’m not The Lincolns. Obviously. They are coming, I promise. But I ... I’m hoping that I can entertain you, even if just for a little, while we wait for them to turn up.” 

He hears a whoop from the back of the stage, in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Gina’s. He smiles into the void, glancing quickly to the side and winking at Amy’s smiling face. Her smile widens, and in an instant he’s transported to a week earlier when they’d disappeared to the beach for the weekend. Amy had driven with all the windows down, deciding that the salty air was far better than anything AC could offer - and the image of her smiling face as she sung along tunelessly to the radio, hair blowing in the wind, had immediately become one of Jake’s all time favourites. He remembers the song that was playing, and he knew what he was going to sing tonight. 

He had clearly lost his mind. But also, he was definitely going to do this. 

“My name is Jake Peralta. Let’s make some noise.”

And before he has the chance to second guess himself, Jake begins to sing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... how do we think the crowd will react? 
> 
> I hope you're all still enjoying this, it's been a fun story to write so far. I really LOVE reading all of your comments, they keep me going more than I can say! So thank you to everyone for all your comments and kudos, you're all my MVPs!
> 
> Song title is a line from Wild Things by Alessia Cara. And the lyrics Amy refers to are from Ho Hey by The Lumineers.
> 
> Comments/Kudos/Song Recommendations are always welcome! xx


	9. A Million Reasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “That’s not going to happen to you, Jake.”
> 
> Throwing his head back with a defeated sigh, Jake runs his hands through his hair, fingers gripping on to the ends tighter than he intended as his muscles bunch along his biceps. He releases his fingers quickly, dismissing the rush of blood that comes from the release as he turns back towards Amy.
> 
> “I just … How do you know? How, Ames? There are _so many_ odds stacked against me on this.” His hands drop, crashing against his thighs with a deafening clap as he half turns towards the faded poster of The Pilots on the far wall. He throws one hand up again, gesturing towards it as he continues. “I look like him, I sing like him …. apples don’t fall that far from the tree. I’ve got a literal crystal ball, in the form of my father, ready to remind me whenever I get even _close_ to forgetting.”

**Chapter Nine - A Million Reasons**

 

It would be fair to say that nobody had really anticipated the response to Jake’s performance.

He’d remained on stage for five more songs, the thunderous roar of the crowd pushing him to continue after each break. It was only when Andrew signalled from the sidelines that The Lincolns had finally made their way into the theatre that Jake had taken a step back from the mic, grateful for the band’s appearance and feeling far more reluctant to leave than he could have anticipated. 

In the following weeks, the studio’s social media feeds had gone into overdrive - getting tagged in various photos and videos of Jake’s performance had brought in an entirely new audience. Most of the posts were curious about this ‘mysterious Jake Peralta’, and were keen to hear more of his music. 

Determined not to overwhelm him, Amy had kept most of these responses to herself until now - choosing this evening with just her and Jake watching a movie on her couch as the prime time to bring it up. She sat with her knees tented and Jake’s left arm slung over her legs, fingertips drawing random patterns against her skin as he clutched her phone with his right and stared in confusion.

“Wait, they actually enjoyed it? People like my singing?!”

Rolling her eyes, Amy drapes her arm over the back of her couch, letting her thumb rub gently agains the back of Jake’s neck. “I told you, babe. They loved it. You knocked it out of the park, no doubt about it.”

He laughs, the glasses he only wears when he is at home reflecting the phone screen as he continues to scroll through. “Hey, look at this one - they called me hot! _Me_ , Ames! Man, they must have been _really_ drunk.”

Joining him in laughter, Amy leans in closer to share his view. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“And this one - is it … it’s just a close up of my hands? Are they trying to see the chords I’m playing, or ..?”

Twisting her neck slightly, Amy can feel a blush building as she looks over at Jake. “Well, you know how much _I_ love your hands, babe.” 

_And what you can do with them._

His eyes flicker towards her, a secretive smile playing on his lips before he leans in for a kiss. “Mmm, I think I might.”

He returns back to the studio’s Instagram feed as they part, furrowing his brow as he reads the comments left behind. “This is all just a little bit crazy.”

“It is …” Amy hedges, trying to figure out the best way to continue. “But it also kind of makes perfect sense. There’s a sense of transparency when it comes to you and music, Jake - and I don’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just that … there’s no pretence. The audience can feel that, and they want more of it. Can’t you see how many requests for another set there are?”

“Shame that it was a one-time thing, then.”

She shrugs quickly, right hand drifting up to run through the hairs at the nape of his neck. “It doesn’t have to be. In fact, I kind of wanted to suggest something to you.” 

His shoulders stiffen almost imperceptibly - if she hadn’t been sitting so closely, she might not have even noticed it. But she knew what his reaction was from - people from his past that he had spoken about when it was only the two of them. People who had pushed and prodded and insisted that he’d do music professionally, all for their own gain. 

People that were not her.

“I think the studio should do an open-mic night … once a week, opening the stage for artists of all different levels of skill.”

He nods, eyebrows raising in agreement.

“…. And I think you should be the first one out there each week.”

“Me?” his eyes dart over to her. “Ames, I only went out there the other week because I was desperate to make sure the crowd wouldn’t tear the roof down.”

“But once you were on that stage … didn’t you love it?”

Jake falls quiet in contemplation, eventually nodding as a smile returns to his face. “Yeah. I loved it. Felt like home, actually.”

“Then what are you waiting for? Look, I’m not going to push you into anything you don’t want to do. You _know_ that. I just think a crowd like that, with no great expectations, would be the perfect place for you to get out there and do what you love. That’s all.”

Rubbing a hand over his face, Jake shakes his head in resignation. “Look, all of this makes sense. It does. I just … need to think about it.” He shifts, taking off his glasses and leaving them on the armrest before pulling her legs over his lap. “And right now, there’s something else I’d like to focus on,” he mumbles before pulling her in for a toe-tingling kiss.

Amy blinks when they seperate, keeping their faces close as she rubs the tip of her nose against his cheek. “Are you just trying to distract me with your kisses, Peralta?”

He answers with another, this one slightly shorter in duration as both of them try to hold back their smiles. “Depends. Is it working?”

“I think you know the answer to that one.”

 

 

 

Another day passes before the topic comes up again. Amy had spent the night at dinner with her friends, while Jake worked to set up the studio for the following day’s dress rehearsal. After quickly stopping at the bar to catch up with Rosa and Charles, she had made a beeline for the stage. Even after months of dating, she still missed him when they weren’t together - and that should have felt ridiculous, but it really didn’t. 

Jake’s hands had run appreciatively over the dress hiding underneath her coat, and Amy had made the wise decision to sit away, leaning against a nearby speaker while she watched him set up the stage. Distractions could be delicious, but he had work to do (and when all was said and done, she was still a professional - and watching Jake in his element was actually very pleasing). 

He had moved quickly around the stage, throwing her a wink as he looped up the last of the mic cables before coming to stand across from her. “So,” he starts, crossing his arms. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

“I can’t do it. I can’t sing. There’s too much riding on this.”

She cocks her head to one side. “How so?”

“There’s a million ways that this could go wrong, Amy. Agents come to nights like these. If I get signed to something, they could ship me anywhere they wanted to. We’d end up separated. Or I’ll be stuck in a studio all the time. It’s all just a dangerous slippery slope. I could turn into somebody that I don’t want to be."

“That’s not going to happen to you, Jake.”

Throwing his head back with a defeated sigh, Jake runs his hands through his hair, fingers gripping on to the ends tighter than he intended as his muscles bunch along his biceps. He releases his fingers quickly, dismissing the rush of blood that comes from the release as he turns back towards Amy.

“I just … How do you know? How, Ames? There are _so many_ odds stacked against me on this.” His hands drop, crashing against his thighs with a deafening clap as he half turns towards the faded poster of The Pilots on the far wall. He throws one hand up again, gesturing towards it as he continues. “I look like him, I sing like him …. apples don’t fall that far from the tree. I’ve got a literal crystal ball, in the form of my father, ready to remind me whenever I get even _close_ to forgetting.”

Amy remains silent for the moment, a hazy mixture of words, answers, reassurances and _reasons_ flying around in her head. She looks up at Jake, eyes wide as she shakes her head in a futile attempt to form _some kind of coherent sentence_. But there’s only one thing that comes to mind, the simplest of statements that seems to hold the key to it all. She folds her arms, holding them close to her chest, and speaks the truth.

“Because I love you, Jake. I do. And I know we’ve only been dating a little over four months, and that this is probably terrifying you, but it’s the truth. And it’s _because_ I love you, that I know that you could never - _would_ never - let any part of this industry destroy you the way it did your father. You’re a better man than that, Jake Peralta. I know it, and you know it. Now it’s just up to you to show the rest of the world that.”

She wants to tell him more. That she’s pretty certain that he’s the love of her life. That no other relationship had ever effected her as much as theirs did. _Does._ But the look on his face, all slack jawed and furrowed brows, pulled her to a pause. 

Maybe he _didn’t_ feel the same. Maybe she was a fool for saying it. And maybe she’s just put her heart out on the line, for something that he didn’t reciprocate. 

He stays silent, mouth slightly open, and the thought of staying here for another moment is too much for Amy to bare. And so without another glance, she turns and walks off the stage.

 

 

 

Amy’s throat seizes up the closer she gets to the exit, the urge to scream or cry or _something_ increasing with every step. Her mind refuses to listen to the sound of Jake repeatedly calling her name from behind. Right now, she needed to be Anywhere But Here.

Her body slams into Rosa as she pushes through the door, and she scrambles back quickly in apology. She looks over at her in confusion - “Rosa? Weren’t you just in the bar?”

Rosa nods, eyes flicking over to her right before returning to Amy. “Yeah, I’m headed back there now. Security just threw out this jerk, trying to talk his way in. Kept throwing Jake’s name around. Wanted to see if I knew him.” She gestures to a figure behind her, leaning against one of the cars and watching their conversation carefully. “Turns out I didn’t. But I’ve seen his face on one of the posters inside, and if I didn’t know better Amy, I’d swear it was …”

“Jake’s dad.” Amy finishes the sentence, nodding sombrely. “But, please -“

“It stays with me.”

She nods, grateful for the discretion of a friend. “Is he drunk?”

“Certainly smells like it.”

“Ok. I’ll take care of it. Thanks, Rosa.”

The other woman walks away, pausing only to whisper - “If you need him to disappear, let me know. I know a guy.” 

Amy blinks at the statement, filing it away for future dissection as she lets out a deep sigh and walks towards Roger. 

It was odd, how he and Jake looked both alike and yet completely different. His father’s body swayed slightly (despite leaning against the car for support), and she could see Jake in the way he stood, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. But it was the eyes that set them apart. When Jake had been drinking, his eyes took on a mischievous nature - sparkling as they crinkled against his smile, taking her in and swallowing her whole. His gaze could hold her captivated in a way that Amy had yet to figure out … knowing only that she was _completely_ under his spell.

In contrast, Roger’s eyes were utterly hollow. They stared blankly at Amy, holding nothing back nor giving anything away. She knew, from what Jake had told her, that this man had seen and done things that would change even the strongest. But she saw no regret, no desire for change - no suggestion that the man that existed before fame’s greedy hands took hold was still there, holding onto a slim hope of resurrection. He was merely a shell now, and it made her heart sink.

“I hear you’re looking for Jake.”

His hands fish around the pockets of the jacket, surfacing with a cigarette and lighter. Lighting up, Roger takes a deep drag before blowing the resulting smoke in her direction, smirking at her repulsed reaction.

“Maybe. You gonna show me a good time instead, gorgeous?”

_Ugh._

“What do you want with him?” He looks at her blankly, as though they’d never spoken in the last thirty seconds. _God only knows what else he was on._ Amy rolled her eyes, slowing down her words. “Jake. What. Do you want. With Jake?”

“I’m his Dad. But don’t go playing games. You know who I am, sweetheart. I’m a big star. And he and I are going to go on tour together. Just like old times.” His smile was lecherous, filled with the arrogance of someone who was used to getting their own way. 

“What on earth makes you think that’s going to happen?”

“Whaddya you care for, anyway? Is Jake coming out here, or not? I don’t have time for this.”

Amy shakes her head, pinching the point on her face where her nose met her brow line, trying to remain calm.

“Look, I think maybe we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I haven’t even properly introduced myself, and that’s on me. My name is Amy, and I’m Jake’s girlfriend.”

“I know exactly who you are. I’ve met a million of you, sweetheart. You’re a star fucker, just like the rest of them. You’re after one thing - fame. And you don’t give a shit who you have to take advantage of to get there.” 

She physically reels at his statement, taking a few steps back as her body heaves in disgust. To even be put anywhere _near_ the same category as the women that would line outside this man’s room was far worse than anything Amy could imagine. He clearly didn’t know her - didn’t know _them_ \- and she would have given anything to turn back the clock to a time where Roger Peralta was only a stranger to her.

“You couldn’t be more wrong” she countered, fighting to keep her voice steady.

“I’m definitely not. I’m his father. I know him better than anyone. I bet you instigated all of this, didn’t you? Brilliant move, sweetheart. _Bravo_. Make him think he’s in love with you and then throw him to the wolves.” 

“I think it’s time for you to leave.”

His eyes travelled up and down Amy’s body, and she pulled her own coat tighter in a futile attempt to hide herself from him. “He’s pretty gullible, isn’t he.” Smacking his lips as he turns his attention back to Amy’s face, Roger shrugs and throws another smile in her direction. “He could’ve picked better, but then again he never was very smart."

That’s it. He could say whatever he wanted to about her, but disparaging Jake was where she drew the line. “Listen to me, Roger Peralta. _Captain._ ” she spat out. “You’re just a sad, washed up has-been from a band with a _ridiculously_ camp name. You were a shitty father, a terrible husband, and the fact that you chose to walk away from Jake, when he needed you the most, is _unforgivable_ in my eyes. Sharing your DNA with someone does NOT give you the right to be called their Dad. And if for some godforsaken reason Jake decides to reconnect with you, I will be by his side. But you can bet your ass I will never support you, or _any_ of your bullshit plans. Do everyone a favour, and _get the hell out of here_ \- before I call security and get you removed.” 

Amy paused, shocked by the amount of swear words she’d just dropped into six short sentences. This wasn’t like her, to throw out such a barrage of hatred. But there was something that Roger sparked in her, a deep seated need to attack and defend and _fight_. Jake deserved better than him. And she would be _damned_ if Roger was going to hurt him again. 

Roger stares her down for a long minute, empty eyes struggling to stay open as the cocktail of whatever he had taken begins to take effect. Slowly he turns away from Amy, muttering words under his breath that she could only dare to guess. He turns away from the venue, flipping the bird to her as he stumbles against the curb. With another shake of her head, Amy swivels in the opposite direction and begins to walk home. 

 

 

It was another hour before she reached her destination, not yet willing to return home and see all the signs of their relationship. Jake’s spare hoodie, stolen by her, draped over the edge of the couch. A strip of photos, printed from a photo booth at friend’s engagement party they had attended last week, taking pride of place at the front of her fridge. Her duffel bag, already pre-packed for her next stay at Jake’s, waiting patiently at the door. All of them signs of two people in love - or at least, so she’d thought.

Her stride had turned into a shuffle by the time her apartment was in sight, and her pre-occupied mind failed to warn her for what she was about to see until it was literally in front of her: Jake, sitting on her doorstep looking the saddest she’s ever seen him.

Praying that the shadows of the street would conceal the trail of tears drying on her cheek, Amy stopped in her tracks. “Hey,” she whispered, the familiar tightness of her throat returning.

“I heard” he began, his voice hoarse. “The whole conversation. Well … most of it anyway. I was going to step in, but it seemed like you were handling it pretty well on your own. You’ve never struck me as the ‘waiting on a knight to come and rescue you’ kind of girl, anyway.” 

He spoke so quietly, the evening obviously having just as much of an affect as it did to her. She wanted to reach for him, to run her fingers through his hair in the way she knows he finds relaxing. But she couldn’t bring herself to move. Not yet. “Jake. I’m so sorry. I was unforgivably rude to him. I should call and apologise -“

“No, wait. Ames. Don’t apologise. Not to him. You were completely right. You usually are, it’s both incredibly annoying and _incredibly_ loveable.”

Loveable. _‘Inspiring love or affection’_.

She wished he wouldn’t use words like that. Not if he didn’t mean them.

She can’t do this. Not right now.

“It’s been a long night, Jake. I’m just going to go to bed.” she mumbles, beginning to climb the steps of her brownstone.

“Ames, wait.” There’s a desperation in his voice that causes her to freeze. She still can’t bring herself to look at him - she knows her limits, and his goddamn doe eyes break her every time. He reaches for her hand, his fingers warm against her palm, and her shoulders drop.

“Amy … _please._ ”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Amy turns her head in his direction with every intention of looking only in his vicinity and not directly at him. But his eyes catch hers before she has a chance ( _did she ever really have one?_ ) and what she finds there makes her turn towards him completely.

“I can’t let you go without telling you this.”

_Oh god._ He wants to break up. Here and now, on the front steps of her apartment, where she’s almost certain that nosy Mrs Watson is eavesdropping from her favourite place in front of the first-floor window? Her heart isn’t ready for this. She’s not sure she’ll _ever_ be ready for this. The lump in her throat burns as it rises and she nods, eyes beginning to well with tears as she waits for Jake to speak.

“Amy Santiago, I love you. I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone.”

_Wait._

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it to you this afternoon, after you said it to me. I think I was just so stunned that someone like you could _actually fall in love_ with someone like me, and it rendered me a little speechless. And then you walked away, and it was like I was glued to the stage. I’m such an idiot. I’m so sorry, Ames. I love you, I really do.”

Her knees crumble, body falling like a puppet without it’s master onto the steps below and Jake reaches out quickly to steady her fall. The tears that had threatened her only seconds ago began to fall, but the meaning behind them had changed - and as they streaked down her cheeks they pooled at her lips, stretched wide across her face in the happiest smile she’d ever made.

“I thought - I - I thought …” she stumbles, struggling to get out the words as Jake searches her face, desperate to figure out the source of her tears. He whispers _shhh_ , the tips of his fingers moving gently across her skin as they wipe the tears away, before giving up completely and using his kisses to absorb their salty paths. 

It had been such a long, terrible night. 

“I’m so sorry that you had to deal with him, Ames. He’s _literally_ the worst.”

“Did you … did you see him? Talk to him?” she asks as he pulls her closer, tucking her into the crook of his neck and she feels him shake his head.

“I don’t have anything to say. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, anyway. But what he said to you …” his arms tighten, fingertips digging into her coat. His next words are short, and she knows he’s clenching his jaw. “It’s the final straw.”

Amy releases another heavy sigh, body finally beginning to relax under Jake’s touch. “I shouldn’t have talked to him. I should have just walked away, pretended I didn’t see him … I don’t even know that version of me that spoke to him tonight, Jake.” She raises her head, tipping it back until their eyes meet. “And I know you don’t think I should apologise, but I truly am sorry Jake. The words were out of my mouth before I even knew I was speaking them.” 

“He brings out the worst in a lot of people.”

Worming her hand out from her coat, Amy reaches out to stroke the edge of Jake’s face, keeping her touch feather light as she holds his gaze. “You are not him, Jake. Not in any way, shape, or form. Please believe that.”

HIs mouth finds hers, pressing gently, and she can taste the salt of her tears against his lips. He laughs softly as he pulls away, smile widening at her confusion. “You’re right. _Again._ Damn it, Ames.”

She laughs along with him, hand resting against his jawline now. “Lucky you love me, huh?”

He leaves another soft kiss. “I do. Can you promise me something, though?”

“Anything.”

“Promise to be at Open Mic each week, to give me a good luck kiss before I go out there?”

She pulls back, one eyebrow raised. “You’re going to do it?”

“Yeah. Watching him tonight made me realise just how different we are. And I shouldn’t be letting the memory of him hold me back from something I love. So, screw it. Let’s see where this thing goes.”

Amy leans in for another kiss, letting Jake deepen it as they disappear into each other for a moment. She pulls on the lapels of his coat when they part, encouraging him to stand as she does. “Come on, I think we need to get inside before we give Mrs Watson a free show.”

“Oh God, I forgot she would be listening.”

“AM NOT!” interjects a third voice before pausing suddenly, obviously realising they’d spoken out loud. 

Tears of laughter stream down her face as Amy grabs Jake hand, unlocking the front door quickly and yanking him inside. 

She loved this man. And she couldn’t wait to see what the future was going to bring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a long one, but there was a lot to squeeze in there! Apologies for the profanities, but I don't think it would have worked without them. 
> 
> Title is a song from Lady Gaga. A thousand/million/squillion thank you to all of you who have left comments/kudos. I appreciate you sooooo very much! They are always, always welcome.
> 
> Thanks for reading! xx


	10. A Song For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jake began to sing, Amy couldn’t help but think about all the songs that had made up their life together. All of the lines to songs that had echoed through the walls of their home - that had become their own music - the songs of their days together, and the future that lay so brightly ahead.

****

Chapter Ten - A Song For You

****

****  


It was almost 8 o’clock on a Saturday night, and Studio Ninety-Nine was hosting one of its most popular acts.

Tickets had sold out within days of being released, and the hashtags that the studio’s PR manager had set up were trending across all forms of social media. This singer had become a star within their own right, and the venue rumbled with anticipation as the hour drew near.

The cheer of the crowd energises the support act, moving rhythmically to the beat of their music, and grows louder as the main act finally walks onto the stage, his bright smile reaching all the way to the back row as he reaches for his guitar.

At the side of the stage stood a little girl, with dark curly hair and big brown eyes that drew in everyone she glanced at. An oversized pair of headphones covered her young ears, and her tiny mouth had remained open in surprise for the last ten minutes.

Her name was Olivia Peralta, but she’s having a little trouble with the letter L right now, so if you asked her to repeat it, she’d tell you it was “Yivya”.

“Mama?” she asked, curls escaping the band of her earphones and flopping onto her forehead as she turned towards the woman beside her, warm hand holding hers.

“Yes, baby girl?”

“Why is Daddy on the stage?”

“Well, you know how Daddy sings at home sometimes?” the little girl nods. “That’s what he’s going to do tonight. And all those people out there, they’ve come to listen to him.”

Olivia turns her head back to watch her Dad settle onto his stool. Mummy was obviously wrong, though - Daddy didn’t just sing at home _sometimes_. He sang _all the time_. It was her favourite thing, after cuddles and her stuffed bear Willis. She moved forward, breaking free from her mother’s grasp and resting her tiny hand on a nearby pulley, transfixed as Jake began to strum at his guitar.

Amy watches from her position slightly behind Olivia, memories of the first time she discovered Jake singing washing over her as she watches their daughter listen to him play. She’d nudged one of the earphones ever so slightly, desperate to hear more of the music, and while Amy was itching to return it back to its original position, she also couldn’t blame her for wanting to hear more. 

As Jake began to sing, Amy couldn’t help but think about all the songs that had made up their life together. All of the lines to songs that had echoed through the walls of their home - that had become their own music - the songs of their days together, and the future that lay so brightly ahead.

 

_Baby you’re all that I want, when you’re lying here in my arms._

It had been seven months since they had started dating, and Jake and Amy had pooled their resources, buying an apartment together. Despite being notoriously terrible with keeping tabs on his expenses, Jake had managed to be surprisingly diligent at saving money once the idea of sharing a home with Amy was on the table. So when they found THE apartment three weeks after searching, they’d signed on the dotted line without hesitation.

Close to four weeks later, and one of the longest moving days in history, they were finally living together. Jake had disappeared to the bedroom around ten minutes ago, and as Amy negotiated her way through the various boxes that covered their living room floor she decided that hiding out in the bedroom may not be the worst idea.

He was lying across their still bare mattress when she walked in and he smiled over at her, stretching out an arm in invitation. She was quick to take him up on the offer, sighing in relief as she felt her body finally begin to relax. 

“We did it, babe.” 

“We really did.”

Amy turns, shifting to her right in order to throw her left arm around Jake’s waist, snuggling into her favourite spot in the crook of his neck. “Let’s never move again.”

“You can count on it, Ames.” He punctuates the last sentence with a kiss, gentle against her hairline. Resting his chin on the top of her head, the two of them lay together in a comfortable silence.

Eventually, Amy groans. “We really should get up, though. There is still _so much_ left to do.” Her grip on Jake’s waist tightens as she speaks, her body already showing signs of protest to what she was saying.

“The boxes will still be there in the morning, Ames.”

“But … all the stuff we need is still packed up. Your boxes don’t even have LABELS, Jake. How we’re going to find out where all the kitchen stuff is, I’ll never know.”

“I’ve got everything I need right here, babe.” he answers, the arm wrapped around her side tracing delicate patterns along the side of her body. 

Her face turns a delightful shade of pink as she peers up at him, a small smile playing at her lips. “If you’re looking to distract me, that was a _really_ good attempt.”

He grins at her in return, dropping his head for another kiss, this one on her still smiling lips. “I love you, Amy Santiago.”

“I love you too, Jake Peralta.” One more kiss. “Still gotta unpack the boxes, though.”

Jake’s lips twist in thought, and he raises one eyebrow as he studies her carefully. “Can I throw in one more attempt at distraction?”

“Hit me with your best shot.”

“This is actually a really important tradition. We probably should have already started, but I think if we get in before the day is over we’re still in with a shot.”

Amy pulls back slightly, cocking her head to one side as she listens. “Oh?”

He nods solemnly, leaning his forehead against hers as his voice lowers. “We need to christen the apartment. You know. With our _bodies_.”

She laughs, relieved that there wasn’t something more important (say, gas or electricity) that they’d forgotten to take care of. “Oh my gosh Jake, whatever will we do?”

His hands wander lower, cupping her butt as he pulls her just that little bit closer. “It’s going to be just fine, babe. There’s a lot of rooms, but I think you and I can do it.”

She laughs again, louder now as her left hand wanders into his hair. She pulls him in for another kiss before pushing him away, rolling off of the bed and standing over Jake with her hands on her hips.

“Aww, _man_! Are you telling me not even _that_ worked?”

Amy shakes her head, trying not to giggle as she takes in her boyfriend’s devastated face. “I’ve only got one thing to say to you, Peralta.”

“What’s that?”

“First one to be naked in the shower wins.” Before she even finishes the sentence, Amy is running out the bedroom door, whipping off her t-shirt and throwing it behind her. She hears Jake call out - “ _Hey, no fair on the head start!_ ” as she nears the bathroom, laughing the entire way.

 

_A backless dress and some beat up sneaks_

Jake watched, eyes wide with surprise, as he took in the scene in front of him.

The band scheduled for today’s soundcheck had needed to do a last minute change, and so his evening had ended far earlier than expected. He’d been eager to leave the studio, hoping to surprise Amy with her favourite takeout - followed by a night of Netflix (and maybe some other stuff) on the couch.

The sound of salsa music filtered down their hallway as he’d walked through the door, and after quickly depositing the food onto the counter Jake had headed towards the noise, curiosity getting the better of him.

He stood now, transfixed as he watched Amy stand in front of the laptop propped up on the dresser, her back to him and focused entirely on the screen. Her hands moved in a deliberate copy of the women in the video playing, and her head tilts to the side as she begins to sway her hips. Her two left feet work against her as she tries to copy their steps, but with a flip of her hair she persists, turning her body towards him and screaming in surprise when she discovers Jake’s presence.

She twists again quickly, slamming her hand on the pause button before whipping back around to him. “Oh my god Jake, how long have you been standing there?!”

Laughing, Jake shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders apologetically. “Long enough to have no idea what you’re doing. It kinda looks like … well … are you teaching yourself how to dance?”

Ducking her head down, Jake watches the tips of her ears turn pink as she begins to mumble. “I just … the other night when we were at that Cuban restaurant for Luca’s birthday. I saw you watching those salsa dancers, and you looked so entranced … I wanted to learn how to do that as well.”

Pushing himself off the doorframe, Jake walks into their bedroom and stops in front of her. “Ames, I love the way you dance.”

“There’s no way that’s true.”

“Oh, but it is! I mean, when you thrust your elbows in the air …. it’s enchanting. And when you show me your forearms? I’m done for.”

Amy shakes her head, the blush taking over her face. “C’mon, Jake …”

“I’m serious, babe. Honestly, they don’t show enough forearms in dancing anymore. It’s really very sexy. And you flap your arms like an angel.”

She rolls her eyes at that. “Okay, now you’re just making fun of me.”

“Nuh-uh! Ames, you are _so_ sexy. Any part of you interests me. Show me your elbows, your forearms, even the back of your knees. It’s all great. In fact, tomorrow night we’re going dancing so I can show you off.”

Pausing in her rebuttal, Amy looks up at Jake with hopeful eyes. “Really?”

“Really, really. I love the way you dance. It’s how you express yourself, and it’s awesome. Who cares what anybody else thinks?”

“Okay, then. It’s probably for the best anyway, I was definitely going to end up hurting myself if I kept going with this.” She leans in for a chaste kiss. “Also, kudos to you for not immediately referring to my boobs when pointing out your favourite parts of my body.”

“If I’m being honest, it was not mentioning your butt that was the real struggle.”

She laughs. “Right, I forgot you were an ass man.”

Joining in her laughter, Jake quickly shakes his head in response. “Nah, I’m just an Amy man.”

Another kiss. “You’re really pulling out all the good lines today, Jacob.”

“I guess you just bring out the best in me?”

 

_I want you (to tell me you love me, to be by my side)_

They had been living together for a year, and the day had begun and ended just as the same as all the others. Tired from a long day at work, Amy had shuffled through their front door, eager to shed her work clothes and spend the rest of the night wrapped up in all things Jake. 

Instead, their living room that had been equally decorated with paintings; Die Hard memorabilia; and photos of them, was covered in candles. Their burning wicks cast a warm glow over the apartment, and as Amy dropped her keys into the bowl beside the door, mouth open in shock, her ears picked up the faint sound of their favourite love songs playing in the background.

Jake appeared from the hallway, dressed in the blue flannel she loved to steal, a nervous smile on his face. 

Her bag fell to her feet, instantly forgotten as she moved towards the centre of the room, butterflies filling her stomach. Unable to tear her eyes away from her boyfriend as he stepped closer. Knowing where this is probably heading, and still so terrified that maybe it’s something completely different. He runs his hands down her arms, the nerves falling away as he wraps his fingers around hers to pull her in for a gentle _welcome home_ kiss. 

HIs face turns earnest, eyes wide with hope as he drops to one knee in front of her, ring in one hand and his heart in the other. He tells her all the things she’s been waiting a lifetime to hear - all the things that solidify that he is The One for her (not that there was ever any doubt.) Her eyes glisten as the tears fall untouched down her face, hands shaking as he tells her how much he loves her, how deeply he has fallen for her - how _impossible_ it is to imagine any kind of life that that didn’t have her in it. 

Jake asks her for forever, and her heart is in her throat as she nods, falling to her knees to join him on the floor, covering his face with hundreds of kisses - one to cover each year they will be together. 

They sway slowly to the music as the reality of it all begins to set in - that this was _them_ , that what they shared was endless. The lucky ones, who’d managed to find the loves of their lives and refused to let go. 

After all the candles had stopped burning he lifts her into his arms, carrying Amy to their bedroom and laying her down gently. He covers her body with his own as they continue kissing, and as they make love the ring on her finger glistens against the bedroom light, the metal cold on her skin but already feeling as though it’s belonged there the entire time. 

 

_You’ll wear white and I’ll wear out the words ‘I love you’ (and ‘You’re beautiful’)_

There have been many times in her life that Amy had felt pretty. She knew the power of a great outfit, and had long since mastered the art of contouring her face (and a strong red lip) to make her best features pop. There had even been moments, mainly in the comfort of their bedroom and Jake’s embrace, that she had even felt - dare she say - _sexy_. 

People had been calling her beautiful all day - from the hairdresser to the makeup artists, her bridesmaids and even her parents had all stopped at one point that morning to look at her, smiling as they repeated the same word, over and over. She had smiled, and said thank you, politely nodding as the other had moved on with their tasks, waiting until she was alone to begin really scrutinising her reflection in the mirror.

But now, as she walked down the aisle on her father’s arm and took step after step closer to Jake, Amy truly felt beautiful. She felt it in her soon-to-be-husband’s gaze: the way his eyes began to glisten, the width of his smile as the two of them came into view, and the way the nervous tapping of his foot immediately ceased now that she was walking towards him. 

His hand gripped hers tightly as they stood together at the altar, repeating their vows and refusing to look away from each other. Her heart melted as he pulled her in for a kiss, their first kiss as _husband and wife_ , and the resounding cheer from the wedding guests pulled a giddy giggle from her chest.

He’d dotted her neck with kisses as they moved together on the dance floor, friends and family watching as they shared their first dance as a married couple. His warm breath left shivers against her skin as he told her how beautiful she looked, how amazing this day had been, and how insanely lucky he felt that she’d chosen him to spend a lifetime with. 

There were 45 tiny buttons that ran down the spine of her lace covered dress, and when she’d first pulled it on in the safety of the dressing room at the bridal store, Amy had resigned herself to the knowledge that Jake was almost definitely going to rip them open when they finally had a chance to be alone (she may, in fact, have actually fantasised about it, _just a little_ ). 

But as they stood together in the honeymoon suite, holding each other close as Jake’s mouth trailed down her skin, her husband ( _husband!_ ) surprised her one more time. He unbuttoned them, one by one, dropping a gentle kiss to each new section of exposed skin as he moved downwards. 

They whispered words of love and adoration as they moved together, and laughed amongst the warm sheets afterwards as they recounted each other’s favourite moments from the evening’s reception. Charles’s awkward dancing, Holt’s poignant speech set in monotone … both of them wondering where Gina and Rosa had disappeared to halfway through the night. Most of all they talked - about nothing and everything, about their hopes for the future, and about how endlessly grateful they were to have found each other. 

Jake had booked a show a month after their honeymoon had ended, and Amy had watched with pride from her spot in the front row. He’d played one song before stopping, shielding his eyes to scan the crowd. 

“Where’s Ames?” he’d called out. “Babe!” when he finally spotted her. “I can proudly report, that I can _absolutely_ play with my wedding band on.”

He made her laugh more than anyone she had ever known. 

 

_You can wrap your fingers round my thumb, and hold me tight._

It had been the longest night, and both Jake and Amy’s emotions were running at an all-time high. After nine hours of labour, their daughter was finally here.

Distant memories of sitting on their bathroom floor, making nervous chatter while a timer ran down and a plastic stick with one important window stood waiting on the counter, come to Jake’s mind as they lay together, cramped on this hospital bed made for one.

Their little girl, only a few hours old, lay snuggled in her mother’s arms. The blanket knitted by her favourite Aunt Rosa had been wrapped around her lovingly, and she grunted in contentment as one by one all the hospital staff left the room, finally leaving the new parents to have a moment alone with their daughter. 

They had named her Olivia, after Jake’s beloved nan, and she was the greatest thing that either of them had ever seen. 

“She’s so perfect,” Amy whispered, index finger running gently down their daughter’s face.

“She really is. Both of you, are so perfect.”

Amy shifted her head slightly, leaving a soft kiss against her husband’s temple before returning her attention to Olivia.

All those months of feeling like an overblown balloon - needing to pee every seventeen minutes, and craving the most _bizarre_ food combinations, instantly became worth it to Amy the moment the doctor had placed her daughter in her arms. Tears of joy (and perhaps, a little fatigue) had rolled down her cheeks, and as Jake joined her on the bed, wrapping one arm around the two of them, Amy had never felt happier. 

She should be exhausted. Labour was quite literally the most difficult thing that she had ever experienced in her entire life. But also the most rewarding, and as she watched their little girl wriggle amongst the confines of her blanket, she knew that she would absolutely do it all over again. Sleep could wait. The rest of the world could wait. She had everything she needed right here. 

It was crazy to think that only a year ago, the idea of something like this was only a conversation between herself and Jake. That they’d sat down one night, in the comfort of their home, and had openly discussed all the reasons why they should and shouldn’t start a family. 

Jake’s career had taken off - it had only taken two months of Open Mic nights, and a handful of support performances, before talent scouts began turning up to the shows with one act in their sights. Few had made offers, all of which Jake had turned down, until one night when a man named John approached and proposed the kind of career Jake had always wanted - record when you can and tour if you want to. No need for separations lasting months at a time, and Jake could sing whatever what he liked.

It had all sounded too good to be true, and it wasn’t long before the truth came to light - that John, like Jake, was the son of one of The Pilots - only his father, Steve, had long since been lost to a drug overdose. Living comfortably in the inherited royalties, John had decided to invest where he could in local artists, working hard to reverse the curse on families that often came with fame in the music industry. 

With Holt’s permission, Amy had taken on Jake as a client, and together they had worked to build up his brand. He already had a loyal following from the shows at the studio, and a few small local tours turned him into a household name. Through it all, Amy stayed with him - building up her portfolio with new contacts at every show, and if everything went to plan, she would be partnering with Holt and branching out Holt Communications to head Holt Talent PR within months.

Together they had set themselves up for the kind of life they had once dreamed of, and while it terrified Jake, he also couldn’t wait to start a family of his own.

So when Amy had come home with a pregnancy test still wrapped up in the pharmacy receipt a couple of months later, she could tell that part of him was still terrified by the idea. And even though the joy was evident in his face when she pulled down the test from the counter, turning towards him with a smile brighter than the sun and showing him the positive result, she knew that there was still a part of him that would be forever worried that he would turn into his father’s son.

They spoke quietly, late at night in the security of their dark bedroom, of all the things that scared them about having a family. He told of her of his fears, and she shared hers, and underneath it all was the undeniable truth that no matter what came their way, they would handle it together.

She saw his fear fade away a little more with each ultrasound they went to - the undeniable of thump of their child’s tiny heartbeat filling the room. She laughed as he set up the nursery, cursing at the cot’s instructions that had _obviously_ been written in Egyptian, and watched as he placed photos of her latest scan onto the fridge, holding court with various photos of the two of them together over the years. 

He’d held her hand throughout her labour, never complaining - which was admirable, really, because she’s fairly certain that she may have actually crushed some of the bones in his fingers. He had encouraged her, reminded her how strong she was when it began to feel like it would never be over. 

Jake was the love of her life, and was going to be the greatest father to Olivia. And Amy couldn’t wait until she was a little more grown, and they could begin to tell her their love story.

 

 

The final chord rings out as Jake finishes the song, smiling at the thunderous applause and dropping his head down in a display of modesty. 

Olivia bounces up and down from her spot on the edge, chubby hands clapping as she struggles to contain her excitement. Before Amy can react to what’s happening she runs onto the stage, tiny steps bouncing off the walls and alerting Jake of the oncoming attack. Happy giggles escape her as she nears her target, arms already stretched out in anticipation of DaddyHugs. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, my daughter Olivia” Jake announces proudly into the mic, leaning to his left and throwing an arm around her waist, lifting her up and resting her on his lap. He looks over to stage left, laughing as he sees Amy hovering on the edge of the wing, debating whether she should come rescue her husband from their daughter. 

Throwing one tiny arm around his neck (as best as she could), Olivia reaches up to whisper something in Jake’s ear, grinning when he nods in agreement. The crowd had fallen silent in apparent eagerness to hear this quiet conversation between the two, and all eyes are on Jake when he straightens, leaning into the mic again. 

“If it’s okay with you, audience, my daughter and I would like to sing a little song to you.”

The room is filled with the responding applause as a stage hand appears from the right, handing Jake a second microphone and setting down another (smaller) stool before shuffling quickly backstage. 

She’s quick to climb off Jake’s lap, moving with the confidence only a five year old could have, grabbing the spare mic and settling into her new seat before turning back to her father with a smile. 

He counts them in, throwing her an encouraging smile as they begin to sing.

Amy watches from the wings, smile wide with pride as she watches her husband and daughter perform together.

It’s a song she’s heard countless times, starting when their daughter was only a small bump, relatively hidden from prying eyes. He’d sung it to her, head resting against her chest as they lay together on their couch. She’d heard it night after night, when Olivia had declared sleep-time to be a fallacy, and had loved the silence that always seemed to follow. 

This was her version of a lullaby, sing by Daddy only, and Amy could hear if for a lifetime and never get enough. 

They’d reached the end now, two pairs of kind brown eyes staring at each other as Jake sang the last lines, lyrics that he’d twisted into his own:

_“You made a rebel of a careless man’s careful son and_

_You are the best thing that’s ever been mine.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so this AU has come to an end ... I struggled to write this last chapter, because I just don't think I was ready to let go just yet. But hopefully with I've been able to give you everything you needed in this update.
> 
> Various songs were used in this chapter - title is from Donny Hathaway (and that AMAZEBALLS golden buzzer performance from AGT). The lyrics, in order, were Bryan Adams - Heaven; Walk the Moon - Shut up and Dance; Lady Gaga - Is That Alright; Train - Marry Me; Ed Sheehan - Small Bump and finally Taylor Swift - Mine.
> 
> The 'playing with my wedding band' thing is something Keith Urban said to Nicole Kidman after they got married, and I found it so adorable that I needed to add it in.
> 
> Final big thank you to Erica for letting me use her prompt, and endless thank yous to everyone who has left kudos and comments along the way. Without them, I probably wouldn't have continued, and I have _loved_ sharing this with you all.
> 
> xx

**Author's Note:**

> Find me/yell at me on tumblr - I'm @amydancepants-peralta


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